Dead Woman Walking
by GamerGirl123
Summary: Sydney has always hid her true self. Trust no one. It's just safer that way. After escaping her Templar father with her half-sister, Lucy, Sydney has to start all over again. This time...as an Assassin. ConnorxOC (Rated M for later chapters). (I wasn't happy with my first version of the story, so I'm rewriting it.)
1. Prologue

**Okay, let's try this again. I've changed things around a bit, so it's a tad bit different but not entirely. Like I said before, if you have any criticisms say it nicely and politely. Thanks for the support annnnnd you can read the prologue now.**

**I do not own Assassin's Creed 3 or any of it's characters**

* * *

Prologue

* * *

The orange flames inside the fireplace crackle, the sound echoing through the silent room. Mama gently pulls a brush through my long chocolate brown, untangling the knots carefully and gently. Lucy lays between my legs, using my thigh as a pillow as she sleeps peacefully. Her waist-length ebony hair is tied into a bun, every strand pulled back off her face and held in place with pins. Her tanned skin marks her as a Mohawk, although she is also half British.

That was the purpose of our visit to Boston, to tear Lucy away from her mother and her village. Mama strongly apposed my father's decision, repeatively telling him it was wrong and unnecessary. But of course, he had to finish what he started. He is Lucy's father, as well as mine. He wants to make her a Templar, just as he wishes for myself to become one. In a few days, I am meant to marry a man I hate and become part of the order for good. Mama refuses to let this happen, which is why she wants us to escape. _Tonight, _of all nights.

"You should wake her up," Mama muttered, her French accent sticking to her words, "It's almost time."

"We shouldn't do this," I said, "You have no telling of what Papa could do to you-"

"He can do as he pleases," She snapped, "Your father is a monster, no more, no less. I do not wish for you to be bound to a man like him. I won't let you suffer as I have. I won't let little Lucy suffer either."

"She isn't your child. Her mother is dead, yes but why do you care so much for her?"

"Because I see so much of you in her. The girl has already seen enough. I think it's time for her live."

"What...What if he finds me? Papa isn't going to stop looking for us until his last breath-"

"He won't find you. Not if you and your sister hide well."

"Why can't we just go back to Paris? We did so well there."

"I only go where I am permitted. Paris is my home, so your father would obviously let me go there every once in a while but after how long we stayed last time, I doubt he'd let us go."

I frown, the memory of Paris still fresh in my mind. It was such a lively place, with gorgeous buildings and street artists everywhere. I can't remember a time when I was happier. Mama begins to weave my hair into a braid, the light tugging and shifting annoying me slightly. When she is done, she taps my shoulder, telling me it's time to leave.

"Wake Lucy. It's time for you to leave, Sydney."

I sigh, the task ahead weighing heavy in my mind. Mama stands and leaves the room, most likely going to ready the horses. I lightly shake Lucy, to which her eyelids flutter open and she looks up at me with a dazed expression.

"What's wrong?" She muttered, "What's going on?"

"It's time to go," I whispered, "Mama said we have to leave now."

"Where will we go?"

"Anywhere but here, Luce. Come on, up!"

Lucy sits up, rubbing her tired eyes and yawning. I stand, pulling Lucy up with me. Her dull brown dress is creased with lines, just as my own black dress is ruffled. I grab her hand and lead her from the room, sneaking quietly through our maze of a home. Papa is out, most likely meeting with Haytham Kenway and his little circle of Templars in Boston. _The perfect_ opportunity...

I lead Lucy away, pulling her out the front door and toward the stables. Mama stands out the front with my horse Titan, his chestnut coat shining in the moonlight. Mama waves me forward, her jade eyes alight with alert.

"Hurry, girls," She said urgently, helping Lucy onto Titan's back as soon as we reach her.

Mama turns to me, handing me a sword and a pistol. She cups my cheek, smiling sadly with tears in her eyes.

"These will keep you safe," She whispered, "There's a letter for you in your pack and a few other things. Don't stop riding until you are sure you're safe, my dear. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mama. I understand," I said sternly, "I love you, Mama."

"I love you, little dove," Mama replied, a single tear escaping the corner of her eye, "Now go. You don't have much time."

I nod, smiling weakly before mounting Titan. Lucy's arms wrap around my waist, holding on with an extreme amount of strength. I take one final look at my mother, her beauty and grace reflected in her pale face.

"Go," She ordered, stepping back into the darkness.

"Celeste!"

My father's voice booms through the stables, causing me to spur Titan forward in a rush of fear and adrenaline. I cannot let my father catch me. He will not capture my sister and I and put us through hell. I will not allow it.

I can hear gunshots go off behind me as I ride away, bullets zinging past our heads and hitting trees beside us.

"They're following us!" Lucy exclaimed, holding on tighter.

"Jesus Christ!" I growled, spurring on Titan even more.

More gunshots ring in my ears, the fear of getting shot increasing. I quickly stop and swerve Lucy around so that she sits in front of me.

"Take the reins," I ordered, pulling out the pistol Mama gave me.

"What?!"

"Ride!"

Lucy does as I ask, spurring Titan back into a gallop. I swivel around and stare into the blackness of the night, my eyes scanning the trees for our hunters. I spot one and fire, the shot miraculously hitting it's target. Before I can reload, another shot rings out in the silent forest and I feel a searing pain at my side.

"Oh no..." I groaned, touching my side and feeling the growing wetness of blood.

"What?!" Lucy yelled, "What's wrong?!"

"I'm hit. Oh God..."

The pain spreads throughout my entire body, causing a small groan of pain to escape my mouth.

"Sydney, hold on. I can see something up ahead, just hold on."

I don't remember much after that. I remember the light and the estate as Lucy rode, and the two men coming out of the estate to see what the commotion was about.

"Who are you?!" One of the men yelled, "What are you doing here?!"

"I can explain later," Lucy yelled back, "Just help us. Please, I'm begging you. It's my sister."

"What's wrong?" The other man asked, his voice sounding younger than the first.

"She's been shot. I don't know how badly-"

"Pretty damn badly," I groaned, dismounting and almost collapsing as my feet hit the ground.

My vision blurs and the last thing I remember, is Lucy's voice.

"Sydney!..."


	2. Chapter 1: Trust Issues

Chapter 1:

Trust Issues

* * *

"Mm..."

My side feels like it's on fire and my wrist aches for some reason. My eyes flutter open, the hot sun beating down on my face. I groan, the burning sensation at my side becoming a stabbing pain as I begin to sit up.

"She's awake."

A man's voice fills my ears and I instinctively flinch, my eyes snapping open and my hand going for my gun. Then I realize my hand is shackled to the bed.

"What the hell?!" I exclaimed, yanking at the metal chains.

I look around the room, staring at the Mohawk man leaning against the wall watching me. From what I can see, he's tall, muscular and strangely...attractive. Although I've had minimal contact with young men apart from my fiancé, Michael, I know a good-looking man when I see one. Michael was gorgeous, with platinum blonde hair and a winner smile but something about this man is just...enchanting.

"You are a Templar," He stated, "It's only a precaution."

I snort, the very suggestion that I'm one of the Order annoying me.

"I'm not a Templar. I grew up with the ideals and the teachings but I never became one of them. That's why my mother sent me away."

"That necklace proves otherwise."

I glance down at my neck, the replica of the Templar cross hanging from my neck on a silver chain staring back up at me. I groan, using my other hand the tear the necklace from my neck.

"Damn thing," I growled, "Should have thrown it into the fire."

"How am I meant to know that you are telling the truth? You could be lying, as far as I know."

"I have no love for the Templars. _Trust me. _I don't. Not after what my father has out me through."

"Your sister...Kimi-"

"Lucy. I know that's her real name but I've always known her us Lucy, so use that name."

"Why not use her real name?"

"It reminds me of what my father did to her mother. I'd rather not relive those memories."

"Fine. Lucy...explained your situation. Is your mother still alive?"

The mentioning of my mother sends a dagger through my heart but I don't show my pain, retaining my icy exterior.

"I have no idea," I replied, "It's a most likely that she isn't. Papa isn't one for traitors."

"Like you?"

I shoot the man an annoyed look but it doesn't seem to affect him.

"Yes. _Like me. _Now that that painful explanation is out of the way, what's your name?"

"Connor. Kimi said your name was...Sydney?"

"Yes. Could you let me go now?"

"No."

"Why?! I've proven I'm not a threat-"

"No you haven't. You've only stated that you are not a Templar. That does not clear the suspicion."

"Oh for Christ's sake, I'm not going to kill you. Is that enough proof?"

"Nothing is ever enough proof."

I slump against the headboard, a frown creeping onto my face. The bedroom door opens and Lucy enters.

"Sydney!" She cried, running to the bed and climbing onto me.

"Ow, careful, Luce!" I exclaimed, "I'm still fragile."

She giggles, hugging my torso as I thread my fingers through her loose hair. She looks up at my shackled wrist, frowning slightly. She turns to Connor and begins conversing with him in her native language. They argue, Lucy's voice raising with every word.

"Luce, calm down," I whispered, tugging at the shackles, "Also, if you're going to argue, please argue in English so I can understand it."

"Kimi, get away from her-"

"Ratonhnhaké:ton, stop! You don't know her! You hardly even know me! Let us go!"

"Children, stop your fighting!"

The older man walks into the room, a strange fatherly air surrounding him. He smiles tenderly at Lucy then gives me a stern look.

"Celeste told me you might come our way," He said, "My name is Achilles. I knew your mother once, when she was a young girl. I'm sorry for the shackles but they were necessary. I wasn't sure if you had been affected by your father-"

"Well, I'm clearly not," I snapped, my patience wearing thin, "Could you please let my sister and I go?"

"I want to propose an offer."

I groan, throwing my head back and almost screaming in frustration.

"Come on, let us go-"

"Listen to my offer. If you want to leave after that, you can but consider what I say. Would you and your sister like to join the Brotherhood?"

I almost burst out laughing. I trust the Assassins about as much as I trust the Templars, so why would I want to join them? It was a stupid idea and Connor obviously wasn't too keen on it either, judging by the look on his face. Lucy, surprisingly, has a pleading look in her eye, as if she wants to join them.

"Luce, you aren't seriously considering this?" I scoffed, "We just got away from Papa. Do you honestly want to join another damn organization?!"

"They could help us, Sydney. We could get back at Papa for all that he's done to us. We could kill him, Sydney. We could finally be free-"

"_You _are nine years old. You should not be thinking homicidal thoughts. They're just the same as the Templars-"

"They're not. Please, Sydney. We can change ourselves. We can change what our father made us. Please, please, please, Sydney..."

I look into my sister's hazel eyes, the pleading element in them causing me to crack. _What does this little girl do to me?_ I turn my gaze back to Achilles and Connor, who are staring at me expectantly.

"Alright..." I muttered, "We'll join you. Just as long as I get to kill my father. He can die for what he's done."

Achilles simply nods, "Let's get started then."

* * *

"Ouch! Son of a bitch!"

Connor glares at me, his own frustration overriding mine. A bruise begins to form on the exact spot where Connor hit me, the red mark on my forearm turning a light shade of purple. Sweat pours down my back, the hot day and stuffy training room not mixing well with my four hour training sessions. Achilles basically ordered Connor to mentor me while he taught Lucy, much to my displeasure. I can fight, although my style is more elegant and graceful, relying on speed and gymnastics skills to pull me through but Connor is insisting that I become stronger, which is causing some of my grace to falter.

"Must everything you do have an element of grace?!" Connor growled, obviously annoyed with me.

"That's just how I fight, okay?!" I snapped, "You're the one who suggested that I become stronger."

"Change is a necessary th-"

"Oh don't go blabbing on about change to me. I can tell you all about change: _It's bullshit! _You think everything will be fine and then everything changes and your entire life gets thrown away!"

"You whine and complain, thinking maybe you will get some sympathy from me but you will not. You aren't the only one who has lost someone you love-"

"Do you think I don't know that?!"

"Well, it seems like you don't because all you've done in the last month is fight me. You've been lazy, you haven't committed yourself to the Brotherhood and you're not focused on what has to be done."

"Oh please, I am not lazy. I've already committed myself enough to stupid secret societies and I'm pretty damn focused-"

"Your words tell me the truth but your face says you're lying. Why are you fighting me when all I want to do is help?"

"Help?! You wanted me dead the first time we met and I'm pretty sure you _still _do. You're not the only one who lies!"

"I...Sydney, let's just...start over."

"I'm in no mood to brawl with you, Connor."

"I don't mean brawling. I mean, getting to know each other."

"You could just ask Lucy-"

"Yes but I want to hear your side of the story. There are things your sister doesn't know, correct?"

My foul mood dulls as our argument becomes less loud and now I don't even know what to say. Yes, there are things my sister doesn't know but they're not exactly things a child should hear. A lot of the things to do with Michael, she _definitely _shouldn't hear. But she's my sister. I tell her most things. Why would I tell an almost completely stranger about my life?

"So...you want to know my life story huh?" I sighed, walking to the stair case and sitting down on the bottom step, "It's not exactly a pretty story."

"No one comes out of life unscathed," Connor stated, walking over and sitting next to me, "It can't be so bad."

"You underestimate me, Assassin."

"I never have, Templar."

"I never became a full Templar, so you can't use that against me. I grew up with the ideals, the teachings, the beliefs. All that stupidity..."

"Why don't you trust the Assassins?"

"For the same reason I don't trust the Templars; it's safer that way. Trust no one and you can never be betrayed or hurt. Simple. Easy."

"But also lonely."

"Not really. I'd rather be alone than unsafe. It's just in my nature."

I fiddle with the end of my braid, doing my best not to meet Connor's gaze. I never usually open up this much. I voice my opinions when they're needed and I shut my mouth when I know my limits but I don't really talk about things like this. Not even with Mama or Lucy. It's always my own thoughts.

"I'm only here because of Lucy," I mumbled, "I would have left and ran away to Paris or London if it wasn't for her."

"Why did you take her from her village?"

"It wasn't me. It was my father. He needed to finish what he started."

"I don't understand your premise."

"He needed Lucy. No child of his would escape his grasp. Even if it meant killing her mother and burning her village to the ground, he didn't care. Lucy hardly even spoke for the first two weeks and whenever she did speak, she only spoke to me or my mother. The girl's been through too much for a child of nine."

"But not as much as you?"

"Not by a long shot."

"Would you care to tell me why?"

I shoot Connor a suspicious look, my jade eyes staring him down. He doesn't back off though, looking at me expectantly.

"Why do you care?" I muttered, "Why do you care how much I've suffered and what scars I bear? I'm just a stranger to you and in your opinion, a dangerous stranger as well."

"Secrets are dangerous," Connor said, "If you're keeping secrets, that's your business but you have to open up eventually."

"Oh and you're so open. I haven't heard a word of your past. I haven't heard the faintest whisper. You know why? You only tell Lucy your past and you've forbidden her from discussing it with me. And you call me untrustworthy and secretive."

"I never called you that-"

"Yes but it was suggested. I can read people, Connor. I do have common sense. I know when I am wanted and when I am not. It's quite apparent to me that you don't want me here, so why would I open up to _you?" _

Connor sighs, shaking his head. He glances over at me with slightly hateful eyes. I stare back, crossing my arms over my chest and frowning. _Never run into a woman with a brain before, asshole? _

"Well, come on," I snapped, "Tell me. Why would I open up to you? Since the day I arrived, you've wanted me dead and gone. You have little to no patience to teach me anything. You're naivety is almost suffocating me-"

"So you want to start naming bad traits?" Connor growled, "You're lazy, arrogant, have no consideration for other people-"

"Said who?! You don't even know me, so don't you dare judge me!"

"Then why do you have the right to judge me?!"

"Screw you! You want to know about my past, huh?! Well, I can tell you. I was born into a Templar family. I was forced to learn all their shitty little nit-picky rules and I was punished when I refused. One punishment was so bad that I had the Templar cross _branded _into my shoulder! I'm engaged to marry a man who almost raped me on more than one occasion and now I'm probably responsible for my mother's death. I don't even know if she's alive or not! So don't you dare judge me for being secretive! I do it to stay safe. I do it to _survive. _I can admit there are parts of myself that will always be cocky and lazy but I like those parts of myself, along with the rest! Can you say the same?!"

I'm furious by this point. I can hardly breathe I'm so angry. How dare he judge me? What does he know? He probably had a good fucking childhood, unlike me who basically lived in fear for most of her life. Connor stares at me in disbelief, my sudden outburst obviously surprising him. He looks down at his feet, avoiding my slightly tearful gaze.

"I'm sorry-"

"You better fucking be or I'm going to kill you for making me remember all that shit," I snapped, tears beginning to work their way to the surface, "Are you happy now? Are you happy now that you know about my fucked up life? Be grateful you had a good childhood-"

"Good?!" Connor snapped, his sudden anger making me jump, "For the first few years, it was good. But then I found my mother burning alive and I will never forget her face as she sent me away. You aren't the only one who has suffered, Sydney. Stop acting like you are."

"Burning alive? Oh God, Connor, I'm sorry. I didn't realize-"

"Of course you didn't. You never knew, so why would you? Stop thinking about yourself for once and remember that there are other people who have suffered. You are arrogant in thinking so."

I shake my head, glaring at him, "I am not arrogant. I am a woman who can make up her own mind and doesn't like to be considered as a possession. Many people just can't tell the difference. You may think you're so great because you wear the Assassin's symbol and you fight for freedom but in reality, you're no different from my father. You lie and murder and kill your way to the top. I don't care about what symbol you bear or what you fight for. To me, _you are all the same." _

I haul myself up off the step and quickly run up the stairs, eager to be away from Connor. I hate him. I really do. He thinks he knows better than me when in reality, he knows nothing. All secret societies have some level of evil, it just depends on the which level. I hear Connor follow me up the stairs and I run faster, the sound of our footsteps echoing through the house. Connor grabs my arm and I swing around, punching him square in the nose. He stumbles back, although he doesn't let go of my arm.

"Go away!" I snapped, tears escaping my eyes, "I don't need to hear anymore of your shit!"

"Sydney-"

"Leave me alone!" I snapped, yanking my arm back.

I turn quickly and rush up the stairs, walking into my room and slamming the door behind me. I can't stand him. He thinks he so much better than me when in reality, we are the same. Well, not exactly the same but close enough.

I look at myself in the full-length mirror, my haunting jade eyes staring back at me. The thin layer of sweat covering my skin causes escaping strands of my hair to stick to my face. My skin-tight black trousers and black boots are dirtied, my sleeveless lace-up bodice destroying my right to breathe. I quickly work to undo the laces, letting me breathe for once. The button up blouse I'm wearing underneath is breathable, thank God, but I hate the dirt under my fingernails and the grime building on my skin. I pull out my braid, letting the chocolate waves sway down to my waist.

"Mama...please be alright," I whispered, placing a hand on my mother's locket resting on my chest.

My sketchbook, gun and sword sit on the desk behind me, my sketchbook filled with sketches and drawings of my old life. I wish Mama was here with me. She was always my shoulder to cry on, the one person I could truly trust. She was the _only _person I trusted.

I wrap my arms around my stomach, feeling sick all of a sudden. I wish I wasn't here. This life isn't for me. There's too much death, too much pain. I just hope it gets better as time goes on.

The bedroom door opens and I turn my head to see little Lucy entering. She smiles weakly at me, her hazel eyes giving her sad mood away.

"Are you alright?" She asked, walking up to me and wrapping her arms around my waist.

"I have no idea," I replied, "Connor...he's just so-"

"Hush, Sydney. He's only trying to help."

"He's a fucking nuisance, that's what he is."

"Don't swear, Sydney. It's unbecoming."

"I don't give a damn about what's unbecoming. I want to leave. I want to go to Paris or London or anywhere that isn't here."

Lucy sighs, shaking her head. Her ebony hair escapes her ponytail, curling around and framing her face.

"Do you want to come to Boston with me?" She asked, "You haven't been away from the estate in a month. You haven't even come riding with me."

"I'm not in the mood, Luce. I just want to sleep."

"Will you at least come with me tomorrow? I'm sick of Connor following me around. If you come with me, he won't have to follow us."

"I doubt it. Connor doesn't really trust me and I don't trust him-"

"Oh don't start. You both have some serious trust issues."

"It's for good reason, Lucy."

"I know, but you're so secretive. You could at least talk to me-"

"Luce, I'm tired. Can you please leave me be? I'll see you later, alright?"

I pull out of Luce's embrace, walking to my dressing table and sitting in front of it. I hear Lucy sigh and leave the room, shutting the door behind her.

I stare at myself in the mirror, my tired eyes and dirtied face annoying me. Mama always taught me to be a woman first and a lady second. At the time, it never made much sense to me but now I understand. I must be a woman of grace and finesse but also a deadly fighter. No matter the cost. Then again, some of her old habits have brushed off on me. I can't stand being unclean, something my mother also hated.

One of the maids brings me bowel of water, as well as a cloth to clean my face. I put my hair up into a bun and pin back every last strand, before I begin cleaning the grime off my face. The cold water is a blessing in this hot climate but once I'm finished, I'm already hot and bothered again. I unpin my hair and brush it out, making sure that there isn't any knot or tangle to be found. I take one last glance at myself in the mirror, my face, hair and eyes reminding me of Mama.

Papa always said I looked like her. I inherited her beauty, charm and charisma, as well as her rebellious attitude. I earned Papa's survival skills and natural fighting abilities, which were only honed and sculpted as the years went by. I shake the memories from my head, kicking off my boots and climbing into bed.

I wish I wasn't here. I wish I was anywhere but here. Sure, I don't want to be back with my father but I don't want to be here with the Assassins either. They're no different, the Templars and Assassins. They both meddle in affairs not meant for them. They both corrupt and scheme, although the Templars corrupt more than the Assassins. I despise both of them but I guess...I'll just have to learn to deal with their madness.

Besides...this is my only chance to get back at my father for all he has done.


	3. Chapter 2: Hiding

Chapter 2:

Hiding

* * *

"Come on, Sydney! We don't have all day!"

"Hold on a second! I'm almost done!"

Small strands fall from my ponytail, the chocolate brown hair curling around my face. A maid tightens the laces of my dress, making me gasp in surprise. I hardly ever wear a corset, since all my clothes are custom-made to keep everything in place, minus some of the more extravagant gowns I have that require the god-awful thing called a corset. My dress is cotton and sleeveless. I cut off the sleeves to make it suit the hot weather, which also caused me to spend a whole day stitching back together again. Nonetheless, it's comfortable and I can actually move in it. I wear riding tights underneath, since I refuse to ride a horse with nothing covering my legs.

I emerge from my room, meeting a very annoyed Lucy outside. Her black hair hangs free, contrasting well with her emerald green dress. It's electric color makes my gray dress seem rather dull.

"Not the right color to wear, Luce," I teased, "The mud will show up so well."

"Shut up!" She snapped, "And it wasn't me that was getting impatient. Connor's waiting."

"If that's the case, I should have stayed in there for half an hour longer."

"You tease him."

"No, I hate him. There's a difference."

Lucy chuckles, following me down the stairs and onto the ground level. Connor leans against the door frame, the scowl on his face indicating that he's not happy with me. _I really couldn't care less what you think, you bastard! _He glares at me as I walk by, looking me up and down before finally speaking.

"Would it have killed you to gotten ready quicker?" He growled, the bitter hate in his voice only amusing me more.

"You are lucky I didn't know you were waiting or I would have stayed in there a while longer," I snapped, my icy gaze hardly even making him flinch.

"Children, stop arguing," Lucy sighed, mounting her horse with a scowl on her face, "I'd like to get to Boston within the hour, please."

"Yes, your royal Highness," I teased, mounting Titan and looking down at Connor, "Are you coming or not?"

"Don't get snarky with me," Connor growled, mounting his own horse and leading the way.

I look over at Lucy and silently imitate Connor, earning a laugh from her. We follow him and reach Boston in less than an hour. Once we're in town, we're met by some friendly faces.

"Sydney Allsion Charlotte Matthews, where have you been hiding for the last month and a half?!"

Chelsea and Alise stand before me, my two best friends both angry and happy at my reappearance.

"It's...a long story," I sighed, smiling at them, "It's good to see you both."

"Hell yeah, it is!" Chelsea exclaimed, reaching out and hugging me tight.

Alise laughs and joins the embrace, nearly suffocating me completely. I pull out, dying for breath.

"I need to breathe you realize!" I chuckled, laughing with them.

"No, you don't," Alise exclaimed, "If us ladies can where corsets, we can learn not to breathe."

"I'm not a lady."

"You most certainly are not," Chelsea said, "You want to know all the gossip that you've missed out on or do you care to explain why you disappeared?"

"Gossip," I said, "Oh, how I've missed you two."

"You better have or there'll be trouble," Alise giggled, "Before we start wondering, who is that gorgeous young man who is currently giving you a death stare?"

I groan, turning to Connor. His hood is pulled low but I can still see his eyes glaring at me from a distance.

"That's just Connor. Will you excuse me while I try not to hit him?" I said sweetly before turning toward Connor.

Lucy comes over and starts talking with Chelsea and Alise while I walk back to Connor. _Dear God, give me the strength not to murder him. _

"What's your problem?" I growled as I reached him, "Do you hate me so much that everything I do becomes an annoyance?"

"Who are they?" He snapped, staring over at my best friends.

"Friends who _are not _Templars. Calm down, take a breath. Smile for God's sake, you're making me nervous, Corporal."

Connor scoffs at my nickname for him but holds his ground, "We need to talk."

"Oh do we? I don't think so. I'd like to catch up with my friends, if you don't mind-"

"Sydney, don't fight me. Just do as I ask."

I groan, fighting the urge to punch him here and now. I want more than anything to talk and gossip with my friends, just like I did in my old life but the intensity in Connor's voice is telling me that I should just go with him. I shake my head, sighing and clenching my jaw.

"Fine. But if you just want to chastise me for something I'm apparently doing wrong, I swear to God, I will drag you to the nearest cliff and throw you off it, understand?!"

Under the shadow of his hood, I can see him roll his eyes and gesture for me to follow him. I turn toward my friends, who are still happily talking with Lucy.

"You two wouldn't mind buying some things for Lucy without me?" I yelled to them, "I have some things to do."

"Aww, but I was so looking forward to gossiping," Chelsea complained, putting on a childish pout before waving me away, "Come back as quick as you can."

I nod and turn to follow Connor, mumbling a reply to myself.

"Oh how I hope this is quick."

I walk with Connor through the streets of Boston, not a word passing our lips until Connor decides to break the silence.

"How long do you plan to hide from me?" He muttered, not bothering to turn his head in my direction.

"What do you mean 'Hide from you'? Some clarification would be nice," I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest as we walk.

"Why do you refuse to tell me of who you are? If I'm going to be working with you, I want to know who you are."

"I don't know you either, so that was quite a poor excuse. Before I tell you about my tragic little life, tell me what you know of me already. My father is a high ranking Templar. I know he's on your kill-list, so you'd know a little something about me, wouldn't you?"

We weave through the crowds, reaching the docks. Once we're there, Connor gets his chance to reply.

"I know you're a deadly fighter. You're the only legitimate child of Steven and Celeste Matthews. You spent most of your life in London, apart from the odd visit to Paris or New York. You lived in France with your mother when you were fifteen then came to live here in Boston for a while. I know you are smart, charismatic and beautiful. I know that you're a great sketch artist and fashion designer. I know that you protect those you love. But you're secretive and you never tell your secrets to anyone. You don't trust easily, because you think it's safer to do so but you despise criticism and you can't handle being judged. I know you're afraid of your father and your fiancé but you don't show it. You hide form everyone, even yourself. So...does that make you happy?"

I replay Connor's words in mind, thinking of a response. Did he really call me beautiful? And smart? I never thought I'd hear those words coming out of his mouth but they did and they were just as surprising as I thought they would be. I flinch a little, still ruling out response in my head.

"Does what make me happy?" I asked, "The fact that you complimented me or was that are sarcastic comment about how you criticized me?"

"That made no sense."

"Well, it did in my head. And I'm not afraid of Michael, I just..."

Through the crowds, I see him. His charming smile, platinum blonde hair and stunning good-looks are all to familiar to me. Michael.

I quickly grab Connor's arm, catching him by surprise and drag him into a back ally. My heart pounds in my chest and I hold my breath as Michael passes by. _Please don't see me, please don't see me, please don't see me. _Connor blocks my view as Michael walks by, effectively shielding me from my fiancé. I cover my mouth to hide my whimpers, tears brimming my eyes. _Never again. Never, ever, ever will he see me again._

Once Michael's gone, I start to relax, my breathing beginning to slow and my heart no longer racing. But as Connor pins me to the brick wall, his hands holding my wrists to the cold bricks, I can feel my adrenaline picking up again.

"You aren't afraid huh? Then why were you hiding from him if you are not afraid?" Connor snarled, his iron grip making it impossible to escape.

We've never been this close. I mean physically, not emotionally but it reminds me of my sixteenth birthday and how Michael forced me up against the wall in my bedroom and attempted to rape me. I wasn't willing to let him have me, so he thought he could take what he wanted and go. But Mama heard my silent screams and stopped him before anything major happened. The ordeal is still pretty fresh in my mind, unfortunately. Being this close to Connor is awakening memories that I wish we're forgotten.

I can feel his eyes staring me down, his hot breath on my neck as I turn my head so not to look at him. The tension between us is electric and I want nothing more than to run away from him and burn the feeling of him off my skin.

I suck in a sharp breath, a single tear escaping my eye.

"You don't know what he's like," I gasped, forcing those stupid there's back, "You don't know what he almost did to me. He made me feel dirty and disgusted. He made me feel like a whore who could be thrown away and never seen again. Yes, I am terrified of him but I hide it because I have to believe that I can kill him one day. I have to believe that I can get my revenge."

"What did he do to you that made you so scared of him?" Connor asked, his voice gentler now that he's seen my tears.

"I told you already. He tried to rape me. About three or four times he's tried. The fourth time, he almost succeeded. But Mama saved me, just like all the other times. Look, Connor...I don't want to talk about it. I know you want to know about my past but all I want to do is forget. You're only making that harder for me."

"No. You are making it harder for yourself because you let these things get to you. You need to learn to block out those memories and use them when the time is right. You are strong, I know that but there are some things you can't hide or run from."

"I know that, Connor! I know that more than anyone!" I sobbed, more tears escaping my eyes, "Do think I could run away and hide when he had me pinned up against a wall with his hand up my dress? Do you think I could run away and hide when he bound my hands to the bed and kissed and bit me until bruises showed? I know more than anyone that you can't hide from everything, Connor!"

Connor stares into my teary eyes, before loosening his grip on my wrists and letting me go. He takes a step back, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, Sydney. I shouldn't have attacked you like that," He apologized, "Do you want me to take you back to the homestead?"

"Yes...please. I need to find Chelsea and Alise first. I think talking with them will make me feel better. It always did in the past."

"Alright. I'll go find Kimi and bring her back."

Connor turns to leave but I reach out and grab his wrist. He looks back at me, expecting an explanation.

"Connor, wait. What...What does this make us now? Borderline-friends or still enemies?"

Connor shrugs, "I think we can settle for borderline-friends. Just remember that I'm still your teacher and I expect a little more respect than you've been giving me."

"Oh...um, sorry. I-yeah I'll do that."

Connor nods and I let go of his hand to let him leave. I quickly wipe the tears away and walk back to the horses, mixing in with big crowds just in case Michael miraculously appears again.

I never used to be afraid of him. As children, Michael and I were the best of friends, despite the fact that we would be married once we were older. Along with Chelsea and Alise, he was my best friend and I loved him. As we broke into our teenage years, things got more intimate. I remember the first kissed we shared when we were fourteen, how I smiled afterwards and he smiled back. It was one of the few happy moments of my life. Then he grew up and he wanted more of me. I wasn't prepared for it. I only ever planned to have sex when I was married, both for pleasure and for children. He hated that, so he tried to take what he needed. That night, on my sixteenth birthday, was when I began to truly hate my fiancé.

Lucy and the girls greet me, Alise instantly putting an arm around my shoulder and guiding me to my horse.

"Are you alright, Sydney?" She asked, "Connor told us what happened. I know it probably isn't easy...seeing him again-"

"I don't want to talk about that," I interrupted, stopping her before she starts to ramble, "I just want to go home and talk with you and Chelsea. So...what's new?"

* * *

"Oh my god, he's in love!" I cried, running from Chelsea while reading through her admirer's letter.

"Oh he is, isn't he?" Alise teased, taking the letter from my hands, " 'Oh Chelsea, I don't think I've ever felt this way about a girl. You're so smart and beautiful, it pains me to think I could not marry you sooner.' Aw, he's such a sweetie. I wonder how much he earns?"

Chelsea snatches the letter from Alise and walks into the living room, twirling with the letter held to her chest.

"Ten thousand a year, no less," She giggled.

"Ten thousand?!" I gasped, "He might as well be the bloody king!"

"I'm sure the king earns more but yes...many fine carriages for me."

Chelsea turns her back to me and come up behind her, hugging her from behind. Her strawberry blonde hair falls in curls down her back, mixing with my chocolate brown waves.

"Is he handsome?" I chuckled, "I haven't seen Simon in so long, not since I was a child."

"Oh he's handsome," Alise teased, "Quite a fine man if you ask me."

"Hands off, Alise. Go back to David," Chelsea cried, pulling out of my embrace, "I could be engaged within a fortnight and married within another year!"

"You two are lucky," I sighed, collapsing onto a chair and leaning on the armrest, "The only man I ever loved tried to rape me and there's no other interesting men around for me."

"No interesting men?!" Alise gasped, "Have you not got a decent look at Connor lately?! Either that or you're blind!"

"I look at him, Alise but I look at him with bitter hate, annoyance and the odd bit of amusement. We were enemies yesterday and now we're only borderline-friends. I highly doubt I can build a relationship from that."

"You doubt your own beauty, Sydney dear," Chelsea said, sitting down on the sofa and crossing her legs, "Any man would consider you a prize."

"Oh great, so now I'm a possession?"

"Women are possessions to all men, dear."

"Not me. I'm my own person and no one else's."

"God, you are so much like your mother," Alise sighed, sitting down next to Chelsea, "So...what's he like? Connor, I mean."

"You're not gonna like my answer."

"Oh come on, Sydney. Give me a small thrill."

"There are no 'thrills' between us. It's more like 'try not to kill each other out of frustration'. I don't really know him that well but...he's skilled, I'll give him that. He knows what he's doing and he doesn't hide his opinions."

"So, a perfect match?"

"Oh shut up!"

Chelsea and Alise burst into laughter which I join a few seconds later. I've missed this. These conversations, the jokes and the quips. I've missed it so much. I can admit there are aspects of my old life that were good and that were something I missed. But they are overridden by the bad memories and old scars that I want to forget. I never thought I's be able to say this but...I'm happy I'm starting over. The Assassins aren't so bad and when I thought they were, I was just whining.

Maybe I haven't just misjudged the Assassins. Maybe I've misjudged Connor as well...


	4. Chapter 3: Child or Woman

Chapter 3:

Child or Woman

* * *

"Ugh, I hate this damn snow! Such a nuisance!"

The cold, winter-like air hits my skin as I open the window, which I quickly shut so to keep the heat in. The snow has been falling heavily for the last two weeks and now, there's god-awful blizzard that has come through and neither Achilles nor Lucy can get back to the estate. Connor and I are stuck at the estate until the blizzard dies down, which isn't _too _bad but I'm not exactly keen on it.

Connor and I have become, more-or-less, friends since the incident with Michael in Boston and that's made it easier to learn under him, although we still fight on occasion. We don't tall about our pasts much, although he tries to get some information out of me sometimes, which bugs me a little. I know he only wants to know me better but when I'm training my ass off and in the zone, I don't really want old memories ruining my buzz.

I walk over to my wardrobe and open the mahogany doors, searching for a coat inside. My dress is heavy, with three layers of lace then cotton then silk. It's long-sleeved but somehow the cold keeps creeping in. All my dresses and coats are light, so I close my wardrobe door and decide to go down to the living room and sit by the fire for a while. I pull out a simple white shawl and drape it around my shoulders. It feels warmer now but not as warm as I'd like.

I grab my various sketch books and pencils, as well as the half-made dress I was still stitching for Lucy. I make my way out of my room and down the stairs, eventually reaching the living room. I place everything on the floor, my needles, thread and fabric already here since I was sewing earlier this morning. I sit down on the surprisingly warm floor and continue with the dress.

I have all my measurements and sketches inside one of my sketch books, I usually just can't remember which. I have so many of them, it's insane. One is for casual drawings, another for my dress making, another landscape drawings, another for paintings. It's a nightmare trying to remember which is which but since there's nothing to do, searching through my sketch books is just a time filler.

"What are you doing?"

Connor enters the room, plopping himself onto the sofa and staring down at me.

"Passing the time," I sighed, "Lucy wants this dress done and I'm obligated to finish it with all the time on my hands. What about you?"

"Watching you."

"Oh and that isn't the least bit annoying to me."

"Your sarcasm is unappreciated."

"It always is-ouch!"

A small droplet of blood leaks from my finger, my carelessness with the sharp sewing needle the cause. I growl, threading the white silk through the tiny hole on the needle with expert skill.

"How do you have the patience for that?" Connor asked, watching me as I begin to slowly stitch Lucy's little red dress.

"Mama always taught me to have patience but she failed miserably. This doesn't require patience, it requires skill. If you have skill, you don't need patience. Simple. Also, pricking your finger is quite rage-inducing even when you are skilled."

"What else did your mother teach you?"

"Quite a great deal of things, really. I never liked any of my governesses, so I learnt most things from Mama. She taught me to read and write. She taught me to sew and to dance. She taught me how to fight as well. But most of all, she taught me to draw. She always said I had an artist's hand, even as a little girl, I still remember her saying that."

"She taught you to fight?"

"Yes, well, she wasn't the only one who taught me how to fight. My father also taught me but my mother knew best. She was the graceful dancer after all."

I flick through the pages of my fashion sketch book, eventually finding the pages for Lucy's dress. It has the stitch pattern, which is what I need.

"What about you, Connor?" I asked absent-mindedly, "What was life like for you in your village?"

"Hasn't Lucy told you?"

"I'd rather hear it from you. Go on, spill. I give a little information about my life, you give a little bit about yours."

Connor sighs, but answers me anyway.

"It was...peaceful in a way. Life was not like what it's like here."

"Mm, of course not. No offense but our society is a little more sophisticated. It has it's social taboos and scandals, whereas life in your village would have been simple and easy."

"Yes, that's true. I don't mean to change the subject but what were you yelling and screaming about with your friends the other week?"

"Oh, um...Chelsea is getting engaged. We were just discussing him."

"Why?"

"_Why? _Why not? Chelsea wanted to talk, so we talked."

"What were you talking about?"

"Just her little admirer. Apparently, he earns ten thousand pounds a year."

"And why would that be important?"

"Money is everything, Connor. Well, not everything but for a young, unmarried woman with hardly any prospects, it means everything. If she doesn't marry a wealthy man, she may have hardship all her life. See what I mean about strange and sophisticated society?"

"Why must money and profit be so treasured in this place?"

"I have no idea. So what did you do in the village? Did you have any friends?"

"Yes."

"I want a little more information than 'Yes', Connor. I mean, Chelsea and Alise are my best friends. Who are yours?"

"Why do you even want to know?"

"You were the one who suggested we get to know each other and unless you're planning to sit here and watch me sew in silence for the next three hours, I think this is the perfect opportunity. Plus, I am really not in the mood to argue with you."

Connor groans but sees my point and continues talking. He tells me of his life before becoming an Assassin, of his village and of his mother. I ask questions, while I bruise and bloody my fingers trying to finish this damn dress. At one point, Connor actually asks me if I'm alright because the tips of my fingers have turned red from sewing.

I shake my head, finishing the last stitch on the dress and tying off the end of the thread.

"It's alright," I said, placing the sewing needle back amain my kit, "I'll be fine. I think I just need to relax and not use my hands for a while."

I reach over and close my sketch book, heat still radiating from the dying embers of the fire. I stand and drape Lucy's dress over the side of the sofa's armrest, lightly nudging Connor's legs.

"Move, will you?" I sighed, watching as Connor lazily sits up and swings his legs over the side of the sofa, "Oh come on, you can't be that tired."

I sit down, leaning my back up against the armrest and curling into a ball. Connor sits up properly and faces me.

"Talking to you will always exhaust me," He mumbled, earning a middle finger from me.

"Screw you. Besides, isn't it nice to not be screaming at each other anymore?"

"Yes, but you always seem to find a way to anger me."

"I do, don't I? So..._you _were a little troublemaker?"

"In a fashion, yes."

"Wow. I cannot picture you like that. You're too...how do I put this? Uptight and proper. You're probably Mama's image of a perfect gentleman."

"Yet to everyone else, I am a savage."

"I never though of the natives that way. Mama told me to respect your people, even though you are different."

"She did?"

"Well, yes. What's your real name?"

"What?"

"Connor isn't your birth name, I know that for sure. Lucy's is Kimi and I heard her say your real name once but it sounded nearly impossible for myself to pronounce."

"It is."

"You doubt my persistence. I'll tell you my full name if you do."

"I already know your name."

"Just my first name. The rest is quite long and annoying to remember."

"What is it?"

"Sydney Allison Charlotte Celeste Abigail Aubrey Chevalier Matthews. Oh...God, I think my brain just died trying to remember all that."

"Why is it so long?"

"Family tradition. Three given names, three ancestors names, Mama's maiden name and Papa's surname. Sydney, Allison and Charlotte are my given names. Celeste, Abigail and Aubrey are my ancestors names; Celeste being my mother, Abigail my grandmother and Aubrey my great-grandmother. Chevalier was Mama's maiden name and Matthews is Papa's surname. Wow, that was confusing."

"How do even remember all of it?"

"I don't know. I just do. It sticks in my mind. Now, come on. Native name, please."

Connor frowns, obviously not liking my deal.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton."

"Jeez, I'm not even gonna try and pronounce that."

"You cannot pronounce my name but you can your own?"

"My name is more of a memory thing. Once you remember the names and what order they go in, you're fine. But yours...no. It's sounds worse than learning German with Papa."

"That's understandable. No one apart from my own people can say my name."

"That's just a tad unfair. _Vous êtes tel une Épouvantable enseignant!" _

"English, please Sydney."

"I could talk to you in more than just English. I speak most European languages. I literally grew up switching dialects around my household."

"Why?"

"Mama and I often spoke in French together but I spoke German and English to my father. It was confusing at first but then I got used to it."

"You are a strange woman."

I laugh, "Seriously? I am neither a fully grown woman nor strange. To you, I am like a child."

"I do not consider you a child. You are eighteen, are you not?"

"I turn eighteen in three months. I've hardly even lived! I've never been with a man, I've never been courted and the thought of bearing a child makes me want to run away and hide!"

"But you've been through many things that other women wouldn't even dream of."

"And if they did, they'd be considered nightmares and not dreams. Connor, I'm a fighter first, a sister second, a lady third and a woman fourth! Experiences do not make a person."

"Yes, they do-I am not getting in another argument with you, Sydney."

"We weren't arguing. We were just talking."

"It was turning into a rather loud argument, to be honest."

I sigh, crossing my arms over my chest. I brush my fingertips over Mama's locket, the cold metal bringing a burning sensation to my warmed skin. I wish it wasn't so damn cold and I could get out of here. I wish I could have a decent conversation with a person and not coax my way into an argument. I wish Mama was here with me, helping me become an Assassin. I can just imagine her, standing in the corner of the training room, laughing at my frustrations.

"You've never been a patient child, have you, little dove?" She would have said, her jade eyes sparkling as she laughed.

A small grin creeps onto my face, the memory of my mother somehow making me happy.

"What are you smiling about?" Connor asked, snapping me out of my daydream.

"Oh...um, just a thought," I replied, shivering as a sudden draft drifts in, "I wonder when this blizzard will go away. It's absolutely freezing. I never thought the weather could get this cold."

"Didn't you grow up in London?"

"Yes. But I'm afraid after a year of living in Paris, my perception of winter and summer has drastically changed."

I look over at my little circle of sketch books, fabric and sewing materials, the mess bugging me slightly. I swing my legs over the edge of the sofa and stand, beginning to clean up the mess.

"What are you doing?" Connor groaned, watching me as I walk around the room placing things in their rightful place.

"Cleaning. The mess was annoying me."

"How can a mess annoy you? It's an inanimate object, it doesn't do anything."

"I'm a woman who grew up with a clean-freak of a mother. These things bug me."

"Oh and now you say you are a woman."

I roll my eyes and continue cleaning, stacking all my sketch books and picking up Lucy's dress. With my hands full, I can't bring the heavy, leather bound books up with me, so I turn to Connor for a little help.

"Could you help please? I have my hands full."

"Couldn't you come back after you put away Lucy's dress?"

"No. It's a waste of time. Please, just help."

Connor complies, standing from the sofa and picking up my rather tall stack of books. I quickly rush up the stairs, Connor in tow and walk into Lucy's currently unoccupied room. The place is a mess, filled with various papers, dolls and toys as well as a few daggers here and there. A short sword leans against the wall next to her bed and a flintlock pistol sits on the bedside table. _Such a dangerous little girl she is. _I lay the dress out on her neatly made bed before turning and quickly exiting the room.

"Come on," I chimed, pulling Connor into my room and having him set my sketch books onto my desk.

I stare at them blankly, the feeling that something is missing becoming strong in my mind. Then I realize.

"Damn. Forgot my bloody pencils," I muttered, "Oh well, I guess I can draw for a while. Just to pass the time."

I take the top sketch book off the pile, remembering that it was the one filled with my fashion sketches. I've been working on designs for my Assassin's robe, which I'm going to have to cut, sew and stitch from scratch. It's a pain in the ass but it's the worst thing I've had to make. At least I know all my measurements, unlike when I made Lucy's dress and I had to take down notes.

I begin to walk out the door but then I spot Connor out of the Connor of my eye, reading the letter pinned to my dressing table mirror. I spin around, swearing under my breath.

"Connor, that's private!" I snapped, tugging him away from the mirror.

"Your mother's still alive?"

"I don't know! Connor, you can't just go around my room, reading things like that! That was private and you shouldn't have read it without asking me!"

"I'm sorry if I upset you, Sydney. I did not know-"

"Of course you didn't fucking know! Get out!"

"Sydney, calm down."

"No, I won't fucking calm down. You should have asked me before you read something as personal as that! That was my mother's goodbye letter to me, that's not just some random letter! Just...don't let it happen again, okay?"

I'm almost completely shaking with anger but I somehow manage some control, slowing down my breathing and calming myself. How dare he read something so personal to me? How dare he invade on my privacy?

I pull Connor out of my room, closing the door behind me. I push past him and storm down the stairs, not bothering to look back.

"Asshole..."

* * *

My newly made Assassin's outfit is laid out on the bed before me, my eyes scanning the fabric for any problems or stitches in need of unpicking. It's turned out quite well, to be honest. I tried them on a couple of days ago and they seemed alright, as well as being maneuverable and comfortable. I'm just not comfortable wearing it yet. Somehow, being an Assassin just...doesn't feel right.

My stomach churns and I feel like I could throw up. We were planning to go into town to meet Samuel Adams but our trip has been put off thanks to the arrival of my monthly bleeding. It's a royal pain but I have to deal. I usually just lie in bed for four days straight, sleeping or drawing. It's the only thing I can do.

There's a knock at my door and I turn to see Chelsea entering my room.

"Hey," She greeted, acting slightly timid around me, "How are you feeling?"

"Like death warmed up," I replied glumly, sitting myself down in front of my dressing table, "Being a woman is so much effort. I feel like a burden."

"You are not," Chelsea said, coming up behind me and running her fingers through my chocolate waves of hair.

"Really? Connor called off our meeting with Adams because of it. I can tell he's annoyed. He hasn't spoken to me in the last few days."

"Connor is not angry with you, Sydney. Besides, I think it's good payback for the many times you've argued with him, not got your way and stormed off."

I chuckle, playfully elbowing Chelsea in the thigh, "Shut up. How is Simon? Has he made any offers yet?"

"Well..." Chelsea said teasingly, a smug grin forming on her face as I watch her in the mirror, "He proposed to me yesterday. We will be married in a year."

"He didn't waste time, did he?" I laughed, standing from the chair and turning to hug her.

"He never did!" Chelsea replied, hugging me tight.

I pull back, smiling from ear to ear, "I'm guessing you want me to make you a dress?"

"Of course. You're the only person I had in mind!"

"I have nothing better to do than draw so...what did you want?"

For the next hour, Chelsea and I sat by the fire, planning out her wedding as I drew up designs for her dress. We laughed and joked, just like old times. She told me of Simon and his family, of his two little sisters and older brother.

It's strange to me, that I am so much unlike women my age. Most have never had to live through the trauma I have. Most are just dreaming of finding a husband and having children. I am so unlike them. The thought of carrying another human being inside me scares me more than anything and I am far too rebellious to ever settle down with a husband.

But I know I won't be seventeen forever. I will have to grow up eventually and become the woman I'm meant to be.

For now, I think I'll just settle for being young, beautiful and powerful.

* * *

_**One more week of school, one more week of school, ONE MORE WEEK OF SCHOOL! God this is killing me. **  
_

_**Please R&R. I'm trying to fix up my writing, since in the past story I royally screwed up everything. Reviews are helpful and I don't mind criticism, as long as it's put in a nice way.**_

_**Thx for the support on the story. I'm trying to get things right (I've replayed the game far too many times whilst trying to remember) and advice or encouragement is much appreciated. **_

_**Okay, I think that's enough rambling from me. I'll have the next chapter up in a little while. I'm going on a holiday to America soon, so I don't have a massive amount of time to write since I've got so much to do but I'll do my best to get the story up. **_


	5. Chapter 4: Tensions Rising

Chapter 4:

Tensions Rising

* * *

"Stop being such a child, Sydney. This was going to happen whether or not you liked it."

I stare at myself in the mirror, little alarm bells going off in my head as I evaluate my Assassin's outfit. _This is so wrong. Mama sent me away to get away from from secret societies like this and what do I do? I just fucking join another one! Jesus, you're an idiot Sydney._

Connor isn't worried. He doesn't know how wrong this feels to me. I fidget with my braid, the annoying itch of the hidden blades strapped to my wrists constantly reminding me of the terrible mistake I'm making. Or at least, I think I'm making a mistake.

Connor comes up behind me, his significantly taller form towering over my own slender body.

"This doesn't feel right," I whimpered, hugging my torso, "This feels so wrong."

"Why are you so anxious?" Connor asked, staring at my worried face through the mirror.

"I'm doing it again. Mama sent me away so I could escape this conflict and I just dragged myself back into it. What if I mess up? What if-"

"There is no point saying 'what if'. If something goes wrong, so be it. Just remember what I taught you and I'll help you if you need it. Hopefully, there will be no fighting today."

"We're hunting. Animals...it still feels wrong."

"It is part of your training. A trail, if you wish to call it."

"I feel sick. Why are you such a hard teacher?"

"I am not. The more you put this off, the more nervous you will get. Let's go."

I take a deep breath and nod, pulling up my hood and pushing away all my uneasy feelings. Hunting wasn't part of my teachings as a Templar. It was more basic fighting and weapons training. As an Assassin, the skill is a necessity.

I follow Connor down the stairs and into the training room, where the sword and pistol my mother gave me have been hidden. Achilles and Connor both banned me from going anywhere near the weapons but now I finally get to use them, as well as a new bow Lucy and I made together.

As we walk down the stairs, I can see Lucy practicing Achilles drills on a dummy, showering it with various punches and kicks. Her grunts and groans of effort fill the room and I smile at her eager attitude.

Achilles stands in the corner of the room, watching Lucy carefully, looking for any little mistake in her movements. Connor and I stop at the bottom of the stairs, watching my little sister brawl with an inanimate object.

"Having fun, Luce?" I teased, earning a dirty look from her as she glances over her shoulder.

"Lucy, I think that's enough for now. We'll work on blades and swords after these two leave," Achilles said briskly, "Sydney, I assume you would like your weapons back."

"It would be appreciated."

Connor walks over to the wall and grabs my weapons off the wall. I grin as he hands them to me, the familiar feeling of protection washing over me. I strap my pistol and sword to my side, Lucy staring in jealousy and awe.

"I wish I could go with you," She mumbled, staring at her feet.

"Oh no, _cherié," _I said, stepping forward and tucking a stray strand of her ebony hair behind her ear, "You aren't going out in the field until you turn fifteen."

"Eighteen," Achilles corrected, being less generous than me.

"The war will be over by the time I'm an Assassin!" Lucy whined, "It's not fair."

"Yes it is. Damn, you too much like me. Achilles, fix her!"

Achilles chuckles softly, "You are sisters. It would be strange if you weren't alike in some way. Connor, I have something for you."

Lucy frowns, eyeing me as I pick up my bow and sling it over my head. I sigh, slightly accepting the fact that my sister is too mature for her age.

"Would you stop frowning?" I snapped, "You are not coming with us, that's final. You're too young and too inexperienced."

"You're just as inexperienced as me!"

"No I'm not. I have seventeen years of Templar training up my sleeve and I've actually killed men before. _You _haven't-woah!"

A rope dart flies across the room, lodging itself in a wooden pillar. Connor looks down at his feet sheepishly, a small grin creeping onto my face.

"Could you be a little less dangerous?" I gasped, putting a hand on my hip and staring over at him.

"Sorry..." He said, flicking his eyes up at me with slight anger.

"We'll have to work on that," Achilles sighed.

A sudden knock at the door causes everyone to look up in surprise. I give Achilles a puzzled look then follow Connor back up the stairs and to the front door. He opens the door and pauses slightly, blocking my view with his broad shoulders.

"Kanen'tó:kon?" He said, a hint of confusion in his voice.

"Yes my friend," The man outside greeted Connor, his eyes glaring at me as I shove Connor out of the way in an effort to see better.

"What brings you here?" Connor asked, drawing his friends attention back to himself, "Is the village alright?"

"For now," Kanen'tó:kon said cautiously.

"What do you mean? What has happened?!"

"Men came, claiming we had to leave. They said that the land was being sold and that the Confederacy had consented. We sent an envoy but they would not listen."

A flash of anger crosses Connor's face and I can tell he's pissed off. _After almost a year of training with him, you should bloody-well know when he's angry, Sydney! _

"You must refuse!" Connor almost yelled, making me jump slightly.

"Connor, calm down," I said firmly, "Take a breath. Absorb the facts, then get angry."

"Do not test my patience, Sydney!" He snapped, earning a dirty look from me.

"What's going on?" Lucy asked, pushing her way past me, "Kanen'tó:kon, what's wrong?"

"Kimi-"

"Hey, hey, hey, do not drag her into this. Explain a little more before dear Connor here goes off and kills every living Templar around," I snapped, already feeling a headache coming on.

"We cannot appose the sanction but you are right as well. We cannot give up our home," Kanen'tó:kon explained.

"Do you have a name?" Connor asked, "Do you know who is responsible?"

"He is called William Johnson."

I groan, rubbing my aching temples, "Slippery bastard."

"Where is Johnson now?" Connor asked, a dark tone to his voice scaring me a little.

"In Boston, taking preparations for the sale."

"Sale?! This is theft!"

"Connor, take care," Achilles warned, "These men are powerful."

"Not to mention wealthy," I added, "No doubt my father is involved."

"How?" Lucy asked, a hint of horror in her hazel eyes, "How could our father have known?"

"No doubt he approved it. All Templar orders in Boston go through him. Even Haytham reports to him."

"He wouldn't-"

"He would, Lucy. You haven't known him as long as I have and I know because he told me so himself. Connor, think clearly for a moment. You can't go rushing blindly into something like this. You need to plan-"

"What would you have me do, Sydney?! I made a promise to my people!"

I sigh, mentally refusing to argue with him when he's like this. I lean against the door frame, fighting the damned headache that has taken me.

"If you insist upon this course of action, seek out Sam Adams in Boston. He'll be able to help," Achilles advised, then turning to me, "Sydney, you will go along with him. Make sure he doesn't do anything drastic that may get him killed."

The sound of an axe hitting wood cause me to jump and I look over at Connor. A hatchet is buried in the right column of the porch, most likely thanks to Connor.

"When you say drastic actions, does _that _count?" I said sarcastically, pointing to the hatchet.

"What have you done?" Achilles asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"When my people go to war, a hatchet is buried in a post to signify it's start. When the threat has ended, the hatchet is removed," Connor explained, "Sydney. Come."

His brisk words piss me off and I pull an annoyed face, flipping him my middle finger. Thank God, neither of the natives know it's significance, although Lucy chuckles softly while Achilles just glares.

"Ask nicely and I might," I growled, "Manners are so undervalued these days."

"Now is not the time for sarcasm," Connor snarled, "Get moving."

"I have three things to say about that. All three are too vulgar to say."

Connor only becomes more agitated while as his friend simply smiles.

"The girl has guts, if she can talk to you in that way and not be afraid."

"No. Not guts. More snarky attitude," I said as I duck down and kiss Lucy lightly on the forehead as a form of goodbye.

She smiles weakly at me and I walk off, grabbing Connor's arm as I pass him and tugging him along.

"Come on, Corporal. Snapping at me isn't going to save your village."

I hear Connor mumble in Mohawk and yank his arm away, taking off into a sprint, expecting me to follow. I smile evilly, proud of my days work.

* * *

"Corporal, calm down," I hissed, punching Connor in the shoulder, "You're making me nervous."

"Do not call me that name," Connor growled, glaring at me with annoyance.

"Why not? It's just a nickname. Get over it."

"You are so immature."

"Well, I am but that's beside the point. Don't think Lucy hasn't told me about how you call me a she-wolf."

"You are a she-wolf."

"That's rude, Connor. I just call you Corporal because you're so uptight."

"You gave me a name based on my personality?"

"What else am I- ugh, I give up. You're so...frustrating! I honestly wonder how Achilles hasn't murdered you yet."

"I wonder how your mother was able to live with you. You whine and complain with every step."

"Okay, now you're just being mean."

Connor rolls his eyes, the action barely visible from under his hood. We walk through the streets of Boston with minimal fuss, although Connor's alert mood annoys me slightly. He's so fidgety and agitated, it's distracting.

We find Sam Adams in the middle of a rather heated argument, our arrival obviously saving him from a fight.

"Ah, Connor," He said calmly, stopping and bowing at the sight of me, "Dear Sydney. I'm sorry for being so informal."

"I'm always informal," I chuckled, "No need to be polite with me. My mother failed in making me lady. It's good to see you again."

"What brings you both here?"

"You," Connor said simply, his professional tone causing me to remember my place.

_I'm the student, he's the teacher. Rock beats scissors. _

Sam turns his head towards the men he was arguing with, "Would you excuse us fellows?"

He turns back to us and leads us away, a sigh of relief escaping his lips.

"Thank you. That conversation was about to turn unpleasant," Sam thanked us, quickly turning to business mode, "Now, what can I do for you?"

"I was hoping you could help us locate William Johnson," Connor said, waving me forward as I begin to fall behind.

"Of course. I'm heading to a meeting with some men who may be able to help. Why don't you both come along?"

"Not to be a burden or an annoyance, Sam but...has there been any news of my mother? Celeste Matthews?" I asked timidly, taking the opportunity to ask of my mother.

"None, I'm afraid. Your father has her in his custody and he's not letting any news get out. I'm sorry, Sydney but you'll have to wait."

A frown creeps onto my face and I can't help but be disappointed in the news. No one has heard anything of Mama and it's just a little more than frustrating.

"It's good to see people are making a stand against injustice..." Sam said, avoiding the subject of my mother.

"Says the man who owns a slave," Connor mumbled, the condescending tone in his voice standing out.

"What? Who? Surry? I practice what I preach, my friend. She's not a slave but a free woman...At least on paper. Men's minds are not so easily turned. It's a tragedy that for all our progress, still we cling to such barbarism."

"Then speak out against it."

"Easier said than done, Connor," I interrupted, "Saying certain things can get you into all sorts of trouble. The British probably don't care about this little uprising. A spark is fine, as along as it is contained. As long as they can keep it just that, a 'little uprising', they will not see any problem."

"Sydney is right in a fashion. But first we must first focus on defending our own rights. When this is done, we'll have the luxury of addressing these other matters."

"You speak as though your condition is equal to that of the slaves," Connor argued, "It is not."

"Tell that to my neighbor- who was compelled to quarter British troops. Or to my friend who's store was closed because he displeased the Crown. The people here are no freer than Surry."

"You offer excuses instead of solutions. All people should be free."

"No one is ever truly free, Connor," I stated, "We are all stuck on the food chain of life. There is always someone higher ranking than yourself, who will keep you tied down and unable to move on. As for solutions, such things need to be planned and prepared, not just created out of thin air. I admire your persistence, Connor but your ignorance is blinding."

Connor shoots me a confused look and I simply shrug, my educated mind and though process being a little too much for him. _Jesus, I feel so arrogant right now. _

* * *

Connor's P.O.V

* * *

_Why must she always be arguing with me? _Sydney hardly looks worried, her jade eyes scanning the streets and her delicate, yet strong hands hovering over both her pistol and sword as we walk.

She has become quite a deadly fighter. Her speed out matches mine and she is deadly with a blade, previously swordsmanship training most likely aiding her abilities. She lacks strength but makes up for it with her reflexes and gymnastics abilities. She's cocky and arrogant in her efforts, her snide and snarky comments hiding her fragile self.

I wonder how long Sydney has hid herself from people? This morning, in her room, she truly looked upset and rattled, the though of becoming an Assassin frightening her. It's one of the only times I've ever seen her so uncertain, as she is usually confident in her actions, although she complains. Maybe her father did more to her than she's telling me.

Then again, she never tells me anything of her father. She likes to talk of her mother and Lucy, as well as Paris and her friends. Only once have I heard her mention her father and that was just a back-handed comment. I know her father is not a kind or gentle man, I know that. The ugly scar on Sydney's shoulder, that she tries so hard to hide, proves that. Through all her flirty, arrogant, rude attitude, Sydney is a fractured and scarred woman.

Any man could admit she's beautiful. Not just pretty but beautiful. She said she was plain compared to her mother, that she only inherited some of her beauty. Her smart mind always shows, her unapologetic tongue destroying my argument just now. She's unbearably stubborn, our arguments often ending in her storming off and sulking in her room. I wish she was more cooperative. I wish she would listen instead of fighting me and getting herself upset.

"I am not ignorant, Sydney," I snapped, "You think yourself better than me-"

"No, I don't and you know it!" She growled, "I was just speaking my mind. Get over it."

Sydney's face turns angry and she hides her fury-filled eyes by pulling her hood lower. She shrinks away and hides within herself, cutting herself off from the conversation.

There's a loud racket as we walk, coming from a home across the street. A man yells down at a small army of redcoats, cursing them and trying to drive them away.

"Hey, it's my home! No matter what you thieves called 'taxman say! If the bumps in Parliment want to take my property, you tell them to sail across the pond and take it themselves!"

The man's Frecnh accent is a thicker version of Sydney's, although Sydney's accent is more British, she still has a slight French accent which stands out when she says particular words. As the people argue, I see the perfect opportunity to test Sydney. If she's as skilled as she says, she should be able to take on these redcoats. I know she's held back in training. I want to see what else she can do.

As the argument turns into an ugly fight, Sam turns back to me to talk.

"I trust the mounting evidence is proof enough, Connor," He said.

"Continue on," I said, "We shall meet you at our destination. Sydney."

Sydney reluctantly walks over to me, her foul mood causing her to be painfully quiet.

"Go ahead," I said, her eyes widening as she realizes what I want her to do, "If you are as good as you say you are, this should be no trouble."

"What?!" She exclaimed, "That's unfair! They're fully grown men-"

"Stop complaining and get it done. I will help if you need it but I doubt you'll need it. I want to see what other abilities you have that you have worked so hard to hide from me. Go."

Sydney looks both dazed and annoyed, her mouth hanging open. But what can she do? She has to agree or that just proves that she is hiding things from me and she hates when I am right.

She groans and shakes her head, proceeding to walk off.

"If I die, I'm coming back to haunt you, you know that don't you?!" She yelled before entering the fight.

_Let's see what she can do. _


	6. Chapter 5: Scrapes and Bruises

**Hey, I'm back. Sorry it took me so long to update. I'm on holidays in America at the moment and I haven't had the time or the Wifi to write much. Oh, Happy Fourth of July to the Americans out there. I must say, you guys do awesome fireworks shows. I was in DisneyWorld, so the show was _spectacular. _Anyway, my updates might be a bit haywire for a few days. I'll try to get them done as quick as I can but these take time and you'll all just have to be patient. Anyway, thanks for the support and the reviews, I really appreciate it. Just remember to review and tell me how I'm going. It helps to know what people like and dislike about my story. Okay, you can read the chapter now.**

* * *

Chapter 5:

Scrapes and Bruises

* * *

Connor's P.O.V

* * *

Not once in my life have I ever seen a person fight like Sydney. Not once. Everything she does is graceful and swift, her quick reflexes and fast hits giving her an advantage over the redcoats. She uses her flexibility and gymnastics in fighting, which isn't something I've seen either.

None of the redcoats can get ahold of her. She's just too quick. One manages to grab onto her braid but his grip isn't hard enough as she knees him in the stomach and drives her hidden blade into his chest. All her kills are clean and simple, until she comes across one particular man who is at least a foot taller than her. He towers over her slender form, a tomahawk in one hand ready to strike.

Just as he brings down the axe to strike, she darts out of the way, coming back with a kick to his stomach. It does little other than daze him, which creates an opportunity for her. She stabs him in the shoulder, losing one of her daggers in the process. The man reacts quickly, punching her in the jaw with so much force, I could swear I hear her jaw crack. The man grabs her braid and yanks her head back, forcing her hood to fall down and expose her face. I can see her determined green eyes, the red mark from the man's punch and the pain-stricken look she wears on her face as she struggles to get out of his grip.

Instinct kicks in and I join the fight, stabbing the man in the shoulder and tearing him away from Sydney. I put him in a headlock, exposing his chest to Sydney. She doesn't miss a beat, shoving one of her daggers into his chest and retrieving the one she lost in his shoulder. He slumps dead in my headlock and I release my hold, his body dropping to the ground.

Sydney struggles to control her breathing, the last of her adrenaline wearing off as she leans against a wall. I can see a bruise forming on her jaw and a long cut along her cheek leaks blood. I cup her chin and turn her head, examining further.

"That wil need stitches," I said, "I am assuming you know how to-"

"Yes," She sighed, swatting my hand away, "Of course I know how to do stitches. This isn't a deep cut, so it won't need many. Thanks by the way...for jumping in when I need you."

"You were in a tough position. You would be dead if I had not have helped."

"That, I agree with. Ow...this is going to bruise."

Sydney rubs her jaw, running a finger along her jawline to try and feel out any cracks or breaks. The French man comes over, his clothes covered in blood.

"_Sont vous vas bien? Qui était une plutôt laid se battre," _Sydney said fluently, the elegant French words rolling off her tongue with ease.

"I would rather you speak in English, Sydney," I sighed, the switching of languages ruining my train of thought.

"I'll live," The man answered, "This is not my first dance."

"Is that what you call it?" Sydney chuckled, "I have another words for it but it's not that appropriate to say."

"Celeste never did get through to you, did she?"

I give Sydney a confused look but she obviously has no explanation, as she just stares at the man with surprise. Then she turns her gaze to me, a sarcastic comment on her lips.

"Is it just me or does everyone know my mother?" She muttered.

"She is a beautiful woman. She's hard to forget. You look like her, so I only assumed-"

"Yes, I'm her daughter. Although, I'm surprised I am sometimes. I share nothing of hers."

"I'd love to stay and chat but I have a meeting. I should buy you both an ale sometime."

"Don't bother," Sydney sighed, "I'm more of a rum kind of girl."

* * *

Sydney's P.O.V

* * *

"Could you stop staring at me?" I snapped, feeling Connor's eyes piercing my skull, "It's distracting as hell."

Connor sighs, frustration clear in his voice. I can feel new bruises forming all over my body, the cut on my cheek still stinging. My skin still tingles where he touched me, a strange feeling of electricity surging through my veins. _What is happening to me?! Pull yourself together, Sydney. _

"I am not staring at you," Connor sighed, "Could you stop being so hostile toward me?"

"Maybe. I don't know, we'll see how I am tomorrow."

"Sydney-"

"Don't 'Sydney' me. Listen, I really am not in the mood to argue-"

Without warning, Connor snatches my wrist and flings me up against a wall, pinning both my arms beside my head. His body is pressed up against mine, the strange electric feeling coming back and a strange tingling feeling flutters in my stomach. I remain collected, cold and distant, smiling snidely.

"You like to have me pinned up against walls, don't you Connor?" I said, a flirtatious tone to my voice.

"I do not want to argue with you, Sydney, but understand this. I am your teacher and I deserve a little more respect than what you are giving me."

"God, not this again. I respect you, alright but I am tired and frankly, not in the mood."

"You are never in the mood for anything are you?"

"I'm in the mood to punch you. Does that count?"

Connor scoffs at me and let's go, tugging me along to make sure I follow him. I yank my arm out of his grasp and barge into the pub on my own. I mumble in French, my frustration far too evident as I sit down at the bar. Sam gives me a confused look but I just shrug.

"Ask the asshole over there," I grumbled, "Is there whiskey around here?"

"Sydney, be quiet," Connor snapped, "No one wishes to hear your complaining."

"I was asking where the whiskey was. I wasn't complaining."

"If you two are done bickering," Sam interrupted, "I'd like to introduce you to some like-minded friends of mine. The owner of this fine establishment, William Molineux and the manger and chef of his newest venture, Stephane Chapheau."

The man from the fight appears, his clothes no longer bloody and tattered. He takes a second glance at Connor and I but contains his composure. I roll my eyes, the frustration from Connor's outburst making my mood even worse.

"Ah, Sydney, Connor and I just hard a ball with some redcoats enforcing taxmen on my home," Stephane said, the joking tone to his voice almost making me snap.

"The collectors grow bolder and more forceful. Something we must address, Samuel," William exclaimed.

"Then let us raise a banner!" Samuel argued, "Something to let the people know that they are not alone. The docks are an angry place of late, protesters picketing the latest shipment of British tea. The eyes of the city are upon that stage..."

"A Bostonian without his tea is a dangerous beast," Stephane added.

I stifle a laugh. Tea? Seriously? I can't stand tea, mainly because it doesn't wake me up in the morning like coffee and it doesn't taste nice without at least six teaspoons of sugar. I've had to drink British tea all my life, so I should know.

"I'm more of a coffee person, myself," I mumbled, faking a cough to hide a laugh.

"William Johnson is smuggling the tea off the ships. One of his men tried to sell me this," William throughs a small bag onto the table, "A sample of what I refused. But it's from those ships, no mistaking the stamp. He's charging a King's ransom, probably making a mint of those who buy it."

"Where is he now?" Connor asked, the sudden sound of his voice making me jump a little.

"I've never met the man," William replied.

"May I ask why you seek him?" Sam asked, a suspicious tone to his voice.

"He intends to purchase the land on which my village stands, without the consent of my people," Connor replied.

"No doubt the revenue from his little smuggling endeavor is financing the inquisition. A tax enforced on tea grants a boon to smugglers. I'll wager the same men who levy the taxes are selling the tea. A stage requires a spectacle and I may know the play."

Connor begins to walk away and I stand, walking over to him. Unfortunately, we are stopped at the door. By none other than my snarky-ass ex-fiancé.

Michael smiles coldly when he sees me, his cold eyes boring into mine. I freeze, the hairs raising on the back of my neck. _No, no, no, this can't be happening. _My heart begins to pound in my chest and I can feel my knees begin to buckle. Connor notices and snatches my hand, pulling me behind him. I hide him, peeking over his shoulder to see Michael's gorgeous face.

"Got a savage protector now, huh Sydney?" Michael chuckled, the mocking tone of his voice both annoying and terrifying me, "I wonder how long it took you to find him."

"Leave her be," Connor growled, "Let us pass."

"Oh, so the savage can speak. Can he fight, I wonder?"

"Go away, Michael," I snapped, stepping out from behind Connor, "I won't come with you if that's what you're asking."

"Well, you never do anything I ask, so why would I bother? Still as beautiful as ever, I see."

Michael reaches out and caresses my cheek, to which I step back, a hiss escaping my mouth. Michael just laughs, taking a step forward and pulling me close. I struggle against him but in all my fear, I seemed to have forgotten how to fight back. Luckily, Connor steps in before I have to. Connor's fist collides with Michael's flawless face, sending him stumbling backwards. In an instant, Connor grabs my hand and leads me out of the pub before I even fully realize what's happened.

"Oh my God," I whimpered, "This can't be happening."

"Calm down, Sydney. You panicked and you froze. Something we will work on."

"It's not as easy as that Connor-"

"Yes, it is. You cannot keep hiding from him, Sydney. You need to stop being afraid."

"How?! After what he's done to me-"

"Stop talking. We will discuss this once we get back to the Homestead."

I was so busy listening and arguing with Connor that I didn't even notice Michael following us. He grabs my shoulder and hauls me back, setting me off balance. I quickly swing around and manage to punch him in the jaw, before stumbling and regaining my center of gravity.

"Fucking bitch of a woman!" Michael hissed, "You're lucky you have your little protector or I would have brought you back to your father by now!"

"What's stopping you then huh?!" I snapped, a sudden burst of courage coursing through me, "What's stopping you from killing him and taking me away?! Why are you even here? I'm not going back with you and I'm definitely not willing to whore myself for a night with you! Piss off and leave me alone!"

"So the bitch barks back, I see," Michael chuckled, fixing his posture and wiping the blood out of the corner of his mouth, "Let's see if she bites."

Michael lunges at me clumsily, a move which I easily dodge and counter with a kick to his gut. He doubles over and doesn't recover quick enough as I slam my knee into his face. Unfortunately, Michael recovers quicker than I anticipated and hooks a leg around the back of my knee, sending me to the ground. I quickly glance over at Connor, who's engaged in a fight with some of Michael's mates who joined in on the fight.

Michael pins me to the ground, one hand holding both my wrists above my head and the other closed around my throat and cutting off my air supply. Panic sets in and I lash out, kicking wildly until I make contact with his chest. The blow dazed him and I take my opportunity to scramble to my feet. I back away, releasing my hidden blade and bumping into Connor who's also back away.

"Back off, Michael," I panted, working hard to catch my breath, "No one has to die here today. Not unless you back away."

"Not a chance, my girl," Michael replied, taking the knife from his friends hand, "Either you come with me and he dies or you don't and the both of you die."

"You won't touch Connor," I growled, the sudden urge to protect Connor surging through my veins, "You do and I'll cut off the hand you hit him with."

"Hm, that's a little dark for you, Sydney. Have you been a dirty little girl and done what you never did with me?"

My eyes widen and I feel my heart skip a beat. I can feel Connor flinch behind me and I feel my breathing get out of hand again. Connor is like a brother to me. An annoying, demanding and hypercritical brother but still, a brother. And he's always treated me like a little sister and a student rather than a love interest. Then again..._NO! Sydney, don't think about that dream. Don't you dare! _

"No response?" Michael said, giving me a look of fake response, "I'm so good at reading people."

"No, you're a sexist, a pig, a rapist and an asshole. Leave now or I _will _kill you."

"Now we're calling each other names? What are we, five years old?"

"I'm a woman of eighteen. You on the other hand, have the intellectual capacity of a whiny three year old girl."

"Ouch. That almost stung. _Almost."_

Michael attacks, his speed matching mine as he slices the blade downwards, slashing my other cheek and slicing a portion of my clothes. _Damn, I'm gonna be stitching all night again. _I'm just as quick, bringing my knee up and hitting his groin, a sadistic smile creeping onto my face. He stumbles back, only just barely dodging my dagger as I swing wildly at him. One of his mates comes at me with a rifle, giving me a split second to dodge his speeding bullet and swing around, stabbing Michael in the ankle, hoping to hit the Achilles heel. Michael roars in pain and I whip away before he can a grip on my now exposed hair. I stand from my crouching position, readying myself to fight again. This action, unfortunately, is in vain.

My father approaches Michael and his mates, a furious look on his face. I can see the rage in his sea blue eyes, the rage I would so often see as a child. His jet black hair is streaked with gray and pulled back into a small ponytail, his fine clothes and upright posture all too familiar to me.

"Michael! What have I told you about picking fights with the natives?!" He snapped at an injured Michael, "It'll only cause trouble."

"This isn't just any native sir," Michael gasped, "And look who's with him."

Papa's eyes glide over Connor, a look of distaste set on his face, "Oh, Haytham's bastard. Don't waste your time on him, he-"

Papa freezes when he spots me. He glances me up and down, his eyes turning from fury to a small sigh of relief. He smiles softly, that smile sending small shivers up and down my spine.

"Sydney..." He said, that one word almost paralyzing me completely.

But it doesn't. Instead, it convinces me to run.

I turn and bolt, running as fast as my legs will allow. I don't stop, not until I am well and truly lost in the forest. I slow down, collapsing onto the green grass and breathing heavily.

I swore to myself I wouldn't crack. I swore to myself that I would kill him at first glance. But I guess, in the end, even that wasn't enough. Am I so weak that I cannot stand the sight of my monster of a father? Am I so weak that I must run and hide from every little memory of my past life? I don't want to be like this. I can't be like this. I feel so fragile, so breakable, like a porcelain china doll. I've worked so hard my entire life to never end up like this but now I can feel the holes in my defenses.

A sob escapes my throat and I can feel the stupid salty tears prick the corners of my eyes. I force them back, hoping they will cure this feeling of fragility. I feel someone put an arm around my shoulder and I almost try to run away again until I realize it's Connor.

"Sydney...everything will be alright, I promise. We cannot stay here. We have to go back to the estate-"

"Wait!" I exclaimed, "Please, just...wait for a second. I need to...to get my bearings. Please, Connor just...slow down."

Connor sighs but complies, moving the both of us over to a tree to lean against. I bring my legs up to my chest and rest my chin atop of my knees, every muscle in my body either shivering or aching. Connor pulls down his hood and looks to me.

"Do you want to talk?" He asked.

"No. Not really. I just need to...think for a little while."

Connor nods and leans his head back against the tree, closing his eyes. My brain snaps for a second and I lean my head onto his shoulder, small alarm bells going off in my head as I do. To my surprise, he doesn't complain or shy away. He just sits there and let's me think for a while, my mind wandering to better memories of spring, Paris and Mama.


	7. Chapter 6: Always Moving Forward

Chapter 6:

Always Moving Forward

* * *

"Tea? Seriously? That's the master plan? I thought Assassin's had better ideas."

Discussing Assassin affairs with Alise and Chelsea probably wasn't the wisest of choices. Alise is almost certain the idea of destroying the tea smuggling business is both the most hilarious and the most ridiculous idea she's heard of and is sure it will fail. Chelsea is indifferent, since she's far too absorbed in planning her rather extravagant wedding.

"What about this fabric?" Chelsea asked, showing me a pearl white silk-like fabric that is almost perfect for wedding dresses.

"It's gorgeous but Chelsea, it's ten pounds a meter. I'll go broke trying to make this damn dress."

"You have the design, don't you?"

"Well, no. I'm still at the drawing board. I have about twenty different designs I want you to look at. And I've also sent letters to some friends in Paris about fabrics and sample dresses and other materials."

"Sample dresses? I want you to make my dress, Sydney. Not some prissy-ass fashion designer, pardon my language."

"They're just a precaution. In case the dress I make goes horribly wrong and I need a backup. You're a size two, right?"

"Yes, of course."

"Mm, you have that stick-figure body that I want."

"Ugh, it's nothing. I'd die to have your curves."

"They're not that great. We should wait until I have word from Sofia and Elena. They might send me some nice fabric. Do you want to look at ribbons or something?"

"No, I'm too tired for that. Why don't we go to Simon's for lunch?"

"Oh great, now we get to hear all the sweet talk from you two," Alise said sarcastically, appearing around a corner, "I'd rather cover myself in jam and sit on a wasp's nest."

"It won't be that bad, Alise," I chuckled, "Besides, which would you rather? Chelsea and Simon's sweet, lovey-dovey rambles or Connor and I engaged in a screaming match?"

"The screaming match. I hate couples who talk all babyish to each other. It's disgusting."

"Oh and you don't do the exact same with David?"

"No! There is no way I would!"

"It's true," Chelsea sighed, "Alise is immune to sweet talk. And just for the record, Simon and I don't talk like that. We just talk."

"I doubt it. I can't come, sorry Chelsea. I have to watch over Ellie, _again. _I swear, the girl never stops."

"Four year olds tend to be like that," I said, walking out of the store with the girls.

"I know but I honestly think she's insane. Or she isn't human. Either one."

Chelsea and I laugh, shaking our heads. Alise's little sister, Ellie, is a little mischief maker. She constantly runs around, squealing and giggling and tormenting her parents and siblings. She's adorable to Chelsea and I but to Alise, she's whiny and unstoppable.

We walk through Boston, chatting and laughing until we somehow bump into Connor.

"Connor!" I exclaimed, watching as Connor approaches us with his usual stern face, "What are you doing here? I thought you were back at the Homestead."

"No. Lucy wants to take you to my village, God knows why. Best come with me or she'll be angry."

"Why does she ant me to go to the village?"

"She wants you to see her home, like she saw yours. At least, that is what she told me."

"My home? What-oh, Paris."

When Lucy first came to live with me, she was violent and hostile to everyone except Mama and I. She would start screaming at them, often running to the nearest thing that could be a weapon and charging at them. Mama thought it might be a good idea to take her to Paris for a week, without my father and other Templars around to probe at her. Papa agreed, thank God and we were off to France. I was happy, of course. It was an opportunity to see Sofia and Elena again, my two gorgeous French friends, so I wasn't complaining. Lucy fell in love with the city, much like I did when I first saw it. But to me, Paris was home. To Lucy, it was just another beautiful city. Her home was in her village, in the arms of her loving mother.

I turn to Chelsea and Alise, quickly hugging them goodbye and following Connor away. The heat of the day has begun to sink in, making my floor length, long-sleeved dress seem like a massive burden. I'm glad I chose put my hair up today, although it was a pain trying to get the long waves into a bun, then having to pin down every last escaping lock. One lock however, manages to escape the pins and curls around my face, sticking to the fine layer of swear coating my skin. It's at times like this that I wonder how Connor can cope in that heavy Assassins coat. I guess he should be used to the hot weather but I'm used to the cold weather of London rather than the hot-then-cold weather here in the New World.

Connor unties his horse and mounts her, the gray mare looking absent-minded as usual. He holds out a hand to me and I take it, pulling myself up onto the horse with him. I sit sidesaddle, my lack of riding tights under my dress becoming an inconvenience. I wrap my arms loosely around Connor's waist, feeling slightly annoyed that I don't have my own horse.

As we ride back to the homestead, Connor constantly turns his head back, looking like he's going to say something then turning back, as if banishing the thought. After about ten minutes, I'm already annoyed by it.

"Connor, if you're going to say something, spit it out! I'm not going to bite your head off for asking something," I snapped, the sentence coming out a little more hostile then I would have liked.

I feel Connor flinch and tense up a little, making me slightly nervous. What could he possibly ask that could make him so tense?

"Yesterday, in the fight with your fiancé...why were you so protective of me when Michael threatened to kill me?"

_Woah. Alright, this is going to get pretty awkward for me. Very awkward indeed. _I hadn't thought about that before. Why did I do it? Was it an act of love for a brother figure? Someone who would do that same for me? Or was it an act of love and protection for _him? _My emotions and personal feelings are so jumbled and messed up that I can't even tell the difference anymore. I couldn't possibly love him like that. I hate him, well not really. I tolerate him and on rare occasions we're friends. How can you love a person who you hate?

"I-I don't know. Spur of the moment thing, I guess," I answered, stumbling on my words a little, "Why do you want to know?"

"Curiosity. I just thought you hated me and that the chances of you saying something like that were quite minimal," Connor said, turning his head back and glancing at me from behind his hood.

"I'm a surprising person, Corporal."

"I have known that for while, Sydney. No need to tell me."

"I was being a smartass, Corporal. You know, my usual sarcastic, snarky self?"

Connor sighs and mumbles something in Mohawk, giving up on the conversation. I bite my lip, cursing myself for ending the conversation like that. No more words are exchanged between us, the sight of the homestead becoming a welcome relief. I slide off the mare's back and land, my heels almost sinking into the ground with the amount of force I landed on. Lucy runs toward me, no longer wearing her usual garish colored dresses, instead wearing her native clothes. Feathers have been woven into her ebony hair, the long locks pulled back into various braids that remind me of how Mama used to braid my hair when I was young. Her hazel eyes sparkle in the sun, that sparkle reflected in her smile.

"Sydney, Sydney, Sydney! You have to come with me! Everyone's waiting!" Lucy exclaimed, grabbing my hand and tugging me along.

"Woah, hold up missy," I giggled, "I need to get changed-"

"No you don't. You look fine. Come on-CONNOR!"

Out of nowhere, Connor sweeps Lucy up, twirling her around as she laughs, giggles and screams. I stare at them in awe, suddening feeling alone and unwelcome in this scenario. I've never seen Connor like this, laughing and having fun. Lucy is like the baby sister he never had. She's not like me, who will snap back and become hostile in a second. She's loving and adoring and willing to do anything Connor tells her. Connor slows down, holding Lucy up and conversing with her in their native language.

My mind wanders, my arms subconsciously wrapping my torso. I stare at the ground, thinking of ways to escape this place without looking suspicious. I must have been frowning because as Connor walks over, Lucy jumps down out of his arms and tugs on my dress to get my attention.

"Hey, stop frowning, sis," She said, "What's wrong?"

"Oh, I-um...nothing. Don't worry, I just-I um...never mind," I stuttered, rubbing my arms as if I'm freezing cold.

"Are you coming or not? I don't have much patience."

"Yes, I'm coming. You don't have to be so bossy."

"I'm not! Come on!"

Lucy hastily grabs my hand and pulls me towards the woods. I stop her for a second and kick off my shoes, quickly turning back to see if Connor is following us. He isn't, to my surprise. He's heading back toward the homestead at what seems like a glacial pace. I pull my hand out of Lucy's grasp and run towards him, grabbing the sleeve of his coat and turning him around.

"Hey, aren't you coming with us?" I asked, "Lucy's not going to be able to show me around all on her own."

"I assumed-"

"Come on, Corporal. I don't hate you that much. Besides, if we ever go to Paris, I'll show you around. Doubt that'll ever happen but whatever."

"Sydney, I do not have time-"

"Then make time. Take a break. Pull down that hood. Smile for once. Lucy would be happy if you came with us and so would I."

Connor gives me a suspicious look, but then pulls down his hood and nods.

"Alright. I will go with you. We better get going. Kimi looks like she is going to tackle you."

I smile and roll my eyes, leading Connor back to Lucy. A hint of anxiety flutters in my stomach, the feeling making me feel sick. For some reason, the idea of going to the natives village makes me even more nervous than I'd like. Lucy and Connor will be there, so there shouldn't be any problem. But still, I never was a very trusting person.

* * *

"Why are we up this early?" I complained, yawning and rubbing my tired eyes, "I could be sleeping in right now."

"We have to prepare," Connor said briskly, no sign of fatigue in his voice, "You were the one who stayed behind with Lucy."

"I was painting. It was a damn good painting too. It'll look better when I put it on canvas."

"The Clan Mother said you spent three hours drawing then another four hours painting and perfecting it."

"Painting is an art. It takes skill and time. I should show you my mother's sketchbook. She has drawings for days in that. She had more sketchbooks and even a journal but...my father has them. Where's my gun?"

Connor points to the shelf by the wall, not even bothering to look up from his bow. I yawn once again and walk over the the shelf, snatching my pistol from the wooden surface. The sun hasn't even risen yet and I'm already pissed off with Connor. I guess it makes sense, since he woke me up at _two o'clock in the morning! _I only had about three hours of sleep, since I got back from the village at twelve. My head was pounding and my fingers and dress were covered in dirt, charcoal and paint but I was on a high. I was more welcome in the village than I thought, mainly because Lucy had told everyone that I was the best person in world but also because apparently, Connor speaks kindly of me. Of course he says I'm arrogant and sarcastic but everything else was good. At least I think it was good.

I hastily strap my gun to my belt and walk up the stairs, leaving Connor to his bow. I feel like if I spend another minute with him, I'll suffer a mental breakdown and shove a dagger into his chest. He's so uptight and soldier-like, his emotionless voice becoming the most annoying sound in the world to me. He hardly even spoke to me last night, silently conversing with people he knew and ignoring me completely. Many of Lucy's friends came over and asked questions, Lucy unfortunately becoming the translator. I answered every question, no matter how ridiculous. I also granted most requests, even one which was the most annoying of the night. Someone asked me to brawl Connor, which was honestly the worst idea in history. I was in a dress and I wasn't ready but somehow, I won the fight. By the skin of my teeth but nonetheless, I won the fight.

I go back to my room, my bed still unmade and my clothes still scattered around the room. The stuffy air of the room makes my stomach tighten and I groan, almost running to the window and shoving it open. The crisp morning air rushes in and I let out a relived sigh. The wind blows my hair back, the long wavy locks tangling in the wind. I don't care, leaning down on my elbows and watching the rising sun. Pinks and yellows splash across the dark sky, the large yellow orb that lights our whole world beginning to rise from the horizon. I instinctively flex my fingers, the urge to paint, draw and capture this moment overcoming me.

I used to love drawing things like sunrises and sunsets. They were always a challenge, since they were often over in the blink of an eye, the swirling colors dispensing and disappearing before I can fully master them on canvas. As I watch the sunrise, I remember watching my first sunrise, on my fifth birthday in London. Papa woke me up at three o'clock, not explaining why he woke me up or where we were going. I had gotten dressed in a hurry then met my father at the door, knowing full well my mother would never wake this early on a Saturday. Papa carried me on his back the whole way out of the city, chatting quietly with me in between my yawning and sighing. Once we reached the clearing, we sat under a tree, Papa sitting me in his lap and telling me to watch the horizon. There was no steam, fog or gases in the clearing, blocking the beautiful sunrise that splashed across the sky in a sea of pink, orange and yellow. I had flexed my fingers, just like I did a few minutes ago and spent the whole day, painting that one sunrise with Mama. That sunrise was one of the very few happy memories I have of my father.

I rub my tired eyes, yawning in the process and walk over to the small rack of weapons sitting by the door. I do as Connor asks and spend the next hour sorting and preparing my weapons. I didn't realize how many daggers and knives I had until now. It's kind of scary to be honest. By the time Connor comes up to my room and tells me it's time to leave, I've only sorted through half of my knives. I quickly grab the most lethal looking blades and strap them to myself, the itch of my hidden blades telling me I didn't forget to put them on this morning.

We depart in silence, no words passing either of our lips all the way to Boston. As I dismount my horse, I turn to Connor, switching to Assassin mode.

"What's the plan, Corporal?" I asked, "It better be good enough or I'll just go back to bed."

"We are to meet Sam Adams at the tavern. Be polite at the very least," Connor said sternly, "And no drinking."

I smile at the little add on, blurting out one of my little sarcastic quips, "That just takes all the fun out of it."

Connor sighs and takes off running, expecting me to follow. I obey his silent request, mumbling under my breath. It takes ten minutes to reach the tavern, with the exception of the five minutes we spent running from redcoats when I killed a smuggler. Connor told me not to but I did it anyway, which even I can admit, was a stupid move. Nonetheless, we got there, although I'll have a few new bruises to show tomorrow.

"You never listen, do you Sydney?!" Connor snapped, "You could have gotten us both killed."

"Oh please...the redcoats...could never have beaten us," I said between pants, "Could you stop patronizing me for two seconds and walk into the tavern."

I straighten up, my shoulder and back aching and my head beginning to pound. I ignore all the pain and follow Connor into the tavern. There's not a soul in sight inside the tavern, which surprises me a little. Connor is none too impressed, walking to the kitchen where Stephane is wondering around, looking both outraged and dazed. I go to ask what's wrong but Connor beats me to it.

"Stephane, what is wrong? Where is Sam Adams?" Connor asked, his tone a little more demanding than concerned.

"Who cares? I have been robbed!" Stephane exclaimed, storming over, grabbing his butcher's knife and barging past Connor and I, "_Ceux canailles sont aller à payer..." _

"What did he say?" Connor asked, turning to me for translation.

" 'Those scoundrels are going to pay.' " I answered, "Oh, that cannot be good."

"Not at all. Let's go before he kills someone who does not actually deserve it."

Connor leads the way, leading us back out onto the street. As he does, I smile to myself, finally happy to be back to work. Two steps forward, one step back. Always moving forward.


	8. Chapter 7: Boston Tea Party

Chapter 7:

Boston Tea Party

* * *

Never once in my life have I had so many bruises on my body. Stephane's stupid little escapade has given me the urge to beat the living daylights out of him but I must refrain, so help me God.

"Ow...I don't think I've ever ached or hurt this much in my life," I complained, grabbing the nearest bottle off the bar's shelf and beginning to drink.

_Thank God. Absinthe. _The stuff is nasty but after one gulp, I can already feel the pain fading. It's always worth another swig. Connor yanks the bottle from my hand and sets it down on the table. I groan, debating whether or not to punch him.

"Do you honestly think becoming intoxicated will help our situation?" Connor asked, that strange brother-slash-teacher air forming around him.

"Let me guess: No," I said sarcastically, finding the rum on the bottom shelf and snatching a bottle before Connor can push me away.

I walk over to a table, pulling out a chair and sitting down, swinging my feet up onto the table. I tear the cork out with my teeth, the familiar smell of alcohol making me smile. While in Paris, I used to be a bit of an alcoholic, since I used to drink at almost all of Mama's parties. I never got blind drunk I do now but I still remember rum being my favorite poison.

Without warning, Connor snatches the bottle from my hand and slams me down onto a table. He pins my arms beside my head and looms over me, the feeling of his hips presided against mine making me surprisingly weak at the knees. I still manage one of my sarcastic remarks.

"You have really got to stop doing that," I sighed, "If you want me, you only have to ask Corporal."

"Do not call me by that name."

"I love how you just completely ignored my comment on you fu-OW!"

Connor digs his nails into my wrists and brings up a knee, pressing it hard against one of my thighs. I hadn't expected that. Awful memories come back to me, memories of my father's torture and punishments. It scares me how much this experience is like those tortures and I instinctively struggle like a child, whimpering and breathing heavily.

"Connor..." I whimpered, "Please...please don't do that. I didn't mean to swear, it just came out. Just let me go."

It surprises me how close to tears I am and Connor can see that, loosening his grip instantly and helping me up. As soon as I'm standing again, I jerk back, hugging my torso.

"Don't touch me!" I hissed, "Don't ever, _ever, _touch me again."

"Sydney, I did not mean-"

"Yes you did. You meant to hurt me, to punish me like my father. He used to do that same. He'd beat me or burn me or cut or do whatever pleased him. You are no different, if you think punishment through force is the right thing to do!"

"Sydney, please-"

"Don't! Just...don't do anything like that again. Stop pinning me to walls what tables and just about everything else. Let me be myself and let me handle things the way I want to handle things. If I want to get blind drunk, so be it. You can't control what I do. Do you understand?"

Connor stares at me with wide eyes, my chastisement obviously stunning him. He looks ashamed, unable to meet my eyes. He should feel ashamed. He had no right to do something like that to me, especially with my past. Some of my anger has faded and I can finally breathe easily. I swallow, the lump in my throat making me feel sick.

Connor finally meets my eyes, his tone apologetic as he speaks.

"Sydney, I am sorry. I acted out on rage and I should not have done that," He said, taking a step forward and causing me to flinch, "I realize you have had a difficult past and that most likely did not help you forget what your father has done-"

"Connor, don't," I said, my voice sounding tired even though I'm physically fine, "I just want to get this thing over with. Our little escapade with Stephane hasn't exactly done wonders for my energy levels."

Connor nods and we leave together, setting out in a slow run toward the town center. I can keep up with him for once and he timidly talks with me as we run.

"I hope all this madness is worth whatever Sam Adams is planning," Connor said, showing minimal signs of fatigue.

"Damn right," I panted, "I think I might start charging for the amount of bruises I get on every mission."

"That is not such a bad idea actually."

"You took that seriously?! Wow, finally, high and mighty Connor gets a sense of humor."

"Mm, well that sense of humor is going to disappear very soon."

"Why-Oh wait. You're pissed off, never mind."

It's surprising how quickly my anger faded. I thought I'd be angry with him for the next two weeks but it seems like my brain is attuned to getting over things like that quite quickly. We reach the town center in about ten minutes, my feet already aching and my muscles complaining as we approach our allies.

"What happens now?" Connor asked abruptly, with no greeting at all.

"We wait for the signal," William Molinuex said plainly, his words serving no explanation.

"What signal?"

Sam Adams voice, or at least I think it's his voice, booms through the city hall and echoes onto the streets outside. The political tone of his voice causes me to roll my eyes as a reflex, my usual response to politicians. I've always hated politicians. They're so slippery and cunning, they're mouths always spouting lies, half-truths and empty promises. They're untrustworthy, egotistical, bastards. Nothing more.

"This meeting can do nothing further to save the country!"

"And let me guess," I sighed, "That was the signal?"

The city hall doors open and our small group moves to the side, letting Sam Adams exit. He strolls casually towards us, hardly looking to be in a business mood.

"Evening gentlemen. And the lady," He quickly added, before returning to conversation, "Shall we be off?"

"No," Connor said, almost growling as the word escapes his mouth.

"What's the matter?" Sam asked, stopping in his tracks.

"We have spent today drawn from one bit of madness to another with _nothing _to show for it. Before I go any further, I would like to know exactly what it is you intend."

"Oh and I'd like to start charging for bruises," I added, rubbing my temples lightly with my fingertips to try and sooth my approaching headache.

I hear Stephane chuckle softly at my remark but the others write it off, letting Sam explain his plans to Connor and I.

"First, we make our way to Nathaniel Bradlee's house to gather the rest of our little group," Sam explained, "Then we'll go on to Griffin's Wharf where we board the ships and dump the tea. Simple as that."

I shrug, satisfied that Sam has the plan under control. But unfortunately, Connor's not exactly the optimist in this situation.

"Simple seems a bit charitable," He exclaimed, earning an eye roll from me.

"Cheer up, Connor," Sam said, his cheerful tone not exactly helping, "For tonight we are all victors! The Sons of Liberty get to send a message to England and you rob William Johnson of his financing. Your village will be saved."

A spark twinkles in Sam's eye and I don't like what's coming next, "I have an idea: why don't you lead the way? That should keep us out of any further trouble, am I right?"

I let a cheeky smirk creep onto my face and I can see Connor shaking his head.

"We will never stay out of trouble while Sydney is around," He sighed, earning a light punch in the shoulder from me.

"I'll wait by the docks," I stated, "I'll keep an eye out on the guards until you all arrive. Deal?"

* * *

"Sydney!"

Connor's sudden voice almost makes me jump, the sound of footsteps betraying his silence. I turn my head, giving him a curious look. I've spent the last half an hour picking at my nails and counting the guards, boredom quickly taking me. As they approach, I stand up straight, moving out of my comfortable leaning position against a wall.

"Fifteen of the bastards are lined up around here," I growled, "What now, Corporal? Are we going to rush in there all gladiator like or are we going to be sneaky?"

"Just say the word, Connor and we do as you ask," Stephane said eagerly, his bloodlust becoming worryingly apparent.

"We need to turn the crowds anger to our advantage," William pointed out, his demanding tone of his voice causing more than one vein in my neck to twitch.

I hold up a hand, signaling them all to stop talking, "Connor?"

Connor takes one look ae our allies before turning to me, "We will work as a team. Eliminate each group one by one. Sydney, stay close to me. I need you to watch my back and in return, I will watch yours. Look out for each other. Understand?"

The strange silence surrounding us is enough to confirm our plan and we begin to it out. The men hide behind various objects around the dock, while I provide a decoy, a 'womanly' distraction. As I approach the guards, my hood pulled down, my long wavy hair blowing behind me in the wind and my hips on a swivel, I can already see the redcoats loss of control. They all look my way, all nine in one group and stare. They're fist mistake.

As soon as I am in range of a guard, I strike, pulling out a pistol and firing straight between his eyes. In a daze, the others react clumsily, to which Connor and the others take advantage of. Five guards down and the fight hasn't even kicked off yet. The second biggest of the guards comes at me, swinging his sword violently, with no grace or poise to help him. I dodge every attempt at a strike and eventually clash steel with my hidden blade. He's stronger than me, making it hard to keep the razor sharp cutlass away from my body but I manage, stomping hard on his right foot, dazing him and performing a sweeping kick to knock his feet out from under him. His end is swift; one simple stab to the throat and another to his heart. The rest of the guards are dispatched with ease and I hardly have any time to admire my handiwork, as we move on to the next group.

This group is a little tougher. There's only three of them but all are big and strong, something that doesn't exactly go in my favor. Connor and I sneak up behind the first and execute him with two hidden blades between his shoulder blades, severing his spinal column and killing him instantly. The other two notice and go after us, splitting our group in two. Connor and I take on one man while the others take on the other. Connor tries to distract him while I get up behind him, quite clumsily might I add. The guard swings around and socks me in the jaw, sparks flying in front of my eyes and pain shooting down from my jaw to my neck. I bite my lip, working through the pain and swing back a blind punch, that hits his chest with some force. Not enough force unfortunately, as the guard shoves me to the ground and goes in for the kill. Luckily, my instincts kick in and I roll to the side, pulling myself up into a crouching position as Connor uses the guard's momentum to push him to the ground. I quickly rush over and pin the guard's wrists with the heels of my boots, digging them in in making him cry out in pain. It's enough opportunity for Connor, as he brings down his tomahawk on the guard's chest. Blood splatters onto my white Assassin's robe and twist my face in disgust, making a mental note to scrub the blood out of my hair when we get home.

Just to show off, I throw my arms back and perform a backwards round over, my foot connecting with the other guard's head and probably giving him a concussion. As I turn around to face Sam and the others, the guard is on the ground, bleeding from the neck with his dead eyes wide open. The sight is slightly more haunting than usual, the guard's lifeless blue eyes staring up at me as if somehow blaming me for his death. In a way, I am responsible for his death, for helping to start this little uprising and contributing to it's destruction. But this is war. There is no such thing as murder in war.

We kill the next group with ease, a small group of weak men who don't know the first thing about fighting. People crowd around the docks, cheering us on as we begin to board the smugglers ships. I stare out at them, a puzzled look on my face. These people are not free but they still have a better life than most. I see no reason for them to cheer us on. I see people who can work to help us win, not to tell us we're doing a good thing.

Connor snaps me out of my daydream, grabbing my arm and yanking me onto the ship. I snatch my arm back, the memory of the tavern all too fresh in my mind.

"Don't touch me!" I hissed, shooting Connor a warning look, "And don't pull me around like you own me. Get to work. We don't have much time."

I turn and storm off before I can see or hear Connor's response, beginning to help Stephane dump various crates of tea into the ocean.

It's not long after we get to work dumping the tea that more redcoats, under Johnson's order, come running. I keep the guards off Stephane's back as he dumps the tea, his strength overriding mine and making it easier for him to dump the tea. I hardly struggle to keep the guards back, although one does manage to make a large cut down my left bicep, tearing my robes and creating a large gash on my arm. I kill him quickly, taking my anger about Connor out on him as I punch him square in the nose and drive a dagger into his throat. He makes a slight gurgling noise before collapsing onto the deck with a loud clatter, his blood most likely staining the polished wood of the ship's deck.

All of a sudden, my energy levels deplete and I can hardly stay standing. I stumble back, thankfully meeting the ships railing. I clutch onto the railing, trying my hardest to keep standing. I'm suddenly aware of the aching in my limbs, the taste of blood and salt in my mouth and the raging headache splitting my skull. The adrenaline blocked everything out and now, with nothing left to keep me going, all the negative side effects are seeping in through the cracks.

"Jesus Christ," I gasped, my legs feeling like jelly as I try to keep myself standing, "What's happening to me?"

"Exhaustion," Stephane said, "Something we all must cope with."

A groan escapes my mouth, just as another crowd of redcoats barges onto the ships deck. I do my best to fight, although my moves are a little slower than usual and my reflexes aren't so great, I manage. That is of course, until a man at least a foot taller than me puts me in a headlock and puts a pistol to my head.

Fear rushes through me and a sense of panic sets in. I struggle against the man but he's unfortunately just too strong.

"Keep moving and I won't bother negotiating with your little friends, girl," The man growled, "There'll be a bullet in your pretty little skull before they could even lift a finger."

At that, I freeze. My heart hammers against my ribcage, adrenaline mixed with fear making it hard to breathe without whimpering like a child. As much as the man's words scare me, they also motivate me.

"You want to know what your first mistake was?" I gasped, wincing as he tightens his hold.

"Shut up, you little bitch," He hissed in my ear before turning to face Connor and the others who are still fighting.

I don't hear what he says to them. I keep my eyes on Connor, who stares at the man with white-hot fury. I slide my free hand up my back, so that the back of my hand his resting over the man's chest and ultimately, his heart.

"Your first mistake," I whispered, "Was thinking I was little."

With one flick of the wrist, my hidden blade releases and I angle it's departure straight into the man's chest, piercing his heart and killing him almost instantly. His grip on me loosens and he crumbles to the deck, stone dead. I, unfortunately, collapse with him. My legs can no longer keep me standing and I collapse onto my knees, black spots appearing in my vision. I hear footsteps against the wood and hands on my shoulders.

"I can't feel my legs," I whimpered, my hands finding the front of someone's clothes.

"I will get you out of here, Sydney but you have to pay attention," Connor's voice said softly, his words seeming reassuring.

I feel the need to retract my hands from his clothes but instead I stay that way, hardly even feeling Connor's arms pick me up off the ground, one arm supporting my back and the other holding up my legs.

I don't quite recall what happened next. All I remember was the wind blowing in my face and Connor's scent as I hid my face in his chest.

As I lay my head against him I could hear his heart, beating at what seemed like a hundred mile an hour, willing me to sleep.


	9. Chapter 8: Mixed Feelings

Chapter 8:

Mixed Feelings

* * *

_A shiver runs up my spine as Connor grips my waist, his hands slipping under my blouse and lifting it up over my head. I've never been this bare in front of anyone, not without my consent at least. I instinctively go to cover my bare chest but Connor keeps my arms away, guiding my hands up to his neck._

_"Why must you hide from me?" He whispered, lifting me up and wrapping my legs around his waist._

_"I'm just...a little scared," I said, laughing nervously._

_"I never thought you could be scared."_

"This_ scares me more than anything. Ever since...ever since Michael-"_

_"Shhh, forget about him. Is he here? No. I would never hurt you like him did. Never."_

_"I know. It's just...the concept of...you know."_

_Connor smiles, the same smile that he rarely ever shows to anyone but me. That smile somehow fills me with a form of confidence, a confidence I never knew I had. He gently sets me down on the bed, his hands slipping down to the hem of my trousers. I let out a shaky moan, my hips bucking against him, a strange wetness pooling between my legs. I'm dying for some friction between us but my mind is slowly turning to mush. _

_My hands find the front of Connor's shirt and I pull him down to me, kissing him lightly, savoring the knowledge that he is mine and mine alone. _

_Mine? Wait a second...no, no, no. This isn't real. This is _not _real. Wake up. WAKE UP!_

* * *

I gasp as I wake, sucking in much needed oxygen. I shoot up into a sitting positon, my heart hammering in my chest and my head throbbing with pain. My head falls into my hands, my whole body shaking with a strange sense of fear.

"No, no, no," I whimpered, "This cannot be happening. I don't want him. I don't like him. I most _certainly _don't love him. But why...UGH!"

I throw my pillow across the room, hitting the door with a loud thud. I draw my legs up to my chest, a terrible feeling forming in my chest. This cannot be happening. I do not love him. Connor is my teacher, my superior and my brother-figure, for Christ's sake! There is no time, place or scenario where we could ever be together.

But these dreams keep telling me otherwise.

"God, I should be hating him! What is wrong with me?!" I exclaimed, ripping the covers back and walking over to the mirror.

The person in the mirror reflects back at me, the fury in the reflections eyes somehow only making me angrier. My hair is still in it's braid, if somewhat a little out of place. I'm wearing nothing but my underwear and shirt, my mood now swinging to embarrassment at the thought of Connor undressing me and seeing me so vulnerable. I lift my shirt sleeve up and see that the cut I had has been stitched, if not a little messily. Purple bruises show on my legs and arms, as well as another large bruise on my jaw. Most of my body aches but I ignore the dull pain, paying more attention to the sickly feeling in my stomach.

My door opens and Connor peers inside, still wearing his Assassin's clothes. He looks at me in surprise then softens his gaze, entering the room and closing the door behind him.

"You are awake," He said, stating the obvious, "The doctor said you wouldn't wake for at least another day."

"Another day?" I said, becoming suddenly confused, "How long was I out?"

"About four days. You should not stand. You are probably quite weak."

"You doubt me, Connor. I actually feel alright, if not a little hungry. Please tell me there's food around."

"There is. Are you sure-"

"I'm fine, okay, so just back off!"

My sudden outburst startles even me, although Connor hardly looks phased. He's probably used to my random fits of rage. I turn to face him properly, hugging my torso and biting my lip.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you, I'm just...a little out of whack, I guess," I sighed, swaying my hips absent-mindedly, "Did you...did you undress me by any chance? Not that I really care but it's not exactly-"

"It is alright, Sydney. I would never do anything to you, I promise."

I would never do anything to you. The phrase rings in my ears, it's similarity to the dream sending a spear of fear into my stomach. I feel my knees buckle and I collapse, although Connor catches me before I hit the ground. As soon as I'm standing again, I jerk back, wrapping my arms around myself again.

"I'm fine, Connor," I hissed, "Just leave me alone."

Connor sighs, excepting that I want to be alone and am in a hostile mood.

"I just wanted to tell you that Johnson is dead. I killed him while you were unconscious. He planned to kill my village elders to own the land since we destroyed his income."

"You killed him? But...never mind. Pitcarn's next I'm assuming."

"Yes. We will start our pursuit as soon as you are better."

Connor goes to leave but something inside my head snaps and I zoom in on my focus.

"Wait!" I exclaimed, "Has...has there been any news of my mother?"

Connor freezes then bows his head slightly. The small action almost sends me to the ground again but when Connor reaches into his coat and pulls out a small white envelope with my mother's handwriting scrawled across it's bleached white surface, a small sliver of hope appears in my heart.

"This was sent to us yesterday. I assumed it was your mother, since the writing is French. Or at least that is what the old man told me," Connor explained, walking over and holding the letter out to me.

I gingerly reach out and grab the letter, talking it with a shaky hand. I draw it close to myself and read the front, the single word 'Sydney' written on the parchment. Around the edges are small phrases of love in French, the sight of my mother's elegant handwriting causing tears to surface in my eyes.

"I will leave you alone, now Sydney," Connor said grimly, "Call if you need me."

I don't even notice him leave. All my focus is on the letter. I sink to the floor, pulling the letter out of it's envelope and beginning to read. It's not in French but that doesn't the words hurt any less.

_Dearest Sydney,_

_I know I have already written you a letter goodbye but this is a different kind of goodbye. The kind where there is no there goodbyes after that. I don't know how many times I have written this letter but I'm sure this will be the last time I shall write it._

_I'm going to die, Sydney, whether you or I can accept it. Your father has told me of who you are now, of how my old friend took you in and trained you. I knew Achilles lived in Boston but I didn't know if you were going to cross paths with him and his new apprentice. Connor, I think his name was? Handsome lad, last I heard. Not that I hear much these days, since your father has me locked up in the house constantly. I hope you're happy. I hope Lucy is happy as well. I'm sure she is, since she's closer to her people and her village. I know you keep in contact with Chelsea and Alise. It's good to hear you're settling in. Or at least, I think you are. You aren't the most trusting person, I know that so I have no idea how you are._

_ I just hope becoming an Assassin hasn't changed you too much or rattled your resolve. You are a strong girl but you tend to hide things. Let me give you a little advice dear; drawing isn't the one thing that you can confide in. Connor is another person who you can confide in. You need to open your heart a little more, Sydney and start to trust people more. I know I taught you otherwise but that was back when I thought you could never escape. Now that you have, I know that that skill bodes you ill._

_I don't know what your father will do to me. I'm going to die, I've known that for quite a while now but I just don't know how. I have accepted my death. I'm writing this letter to tell you that you should as well. Move on. Forget about me. Be the strong woman I know you are. Do not dwell on what could have been. Live a good life. Don't fall into the same trap I did. _

_Trust your head girl. It will never steer you wrong. Trust no one but those around you. Connor, Lucy and Achilles. No one else, do you understand? _

_I'd better stop now. Before the tears start to fall and ruin the ink on the page._

_With all my love and soul,_

_Mama_

Tears rolls in streams down my cheeks. I'm so confused, so very confused. She wants me to trust people and to not trust people. She wants me to forget but still remember. Why can't everything be normal? Why did I have to be born into all this mess? Mama's locket feel cold against my feverish skin, it's significance weighing heavy on me. I curl into a ball and let out violet sobs, feeling years of grief and frustration escape with the tears.

"Sydney?" A little voice rings in my ears, mixed with the sound of my loud sobbing.

I feel Lucy's little hands on my shoulders and her head on my shoulder. After a few minutes, I hear her tiny sobs as she begins to shake me.

"Sydney, what's wrong?" She cried, "Please, tell me what's wrong."

I don't respond. Instead, I turn my body and wrap my arms around her tiny body. I feel like I need her affection, her selfless comfort. I need my sister right now and no one else. Together, we sit there, Lucy cradling my head in her lap as she combs my hair with her fingers. I sob into her dress, the same dress I made for her when she first came to live with Mama and I.

Old memories of home come back to me in a tidal wave, only enhancing my grief and making the process of acceptance seem unbearable. Why should I let go, forget about the woman who has been my only beacon of hope my whole life? I don't want to forget who she was or what she did. I don't want to forget her, never in my life would I want that. But in a way, I have to move on.

Another hour passes and eventually, I no longer have any tears to cry. Lucy still cradles my head in her lap, combing her fingers through my now loose braid. I sit up, rubbing my wet cheeks. I turn to the window, the bright sun gleaming down through the window onto my face. I wish Mama was here with me, not cooped up in her little prison awaiting her death.

"Do you want anything to eat?" Lucy asked, taking on the role of 'big sister' since my mind is adrift.

"No. I don't want anything," I answered, "I just...I need to talk to Connor."

"Why? A few hours ago, you screamed at him to leave and now you want him back?"

"We need to talk, alright Luce? Sort something out."

Lucy let's out a frustrated sigh but grants my request, running out of the room to find Connor. She returns a few minutes later, with Connor in tow. She abruptly leaves as soon as she brought him into the room, slamming the door behind her. I suspect I upset her but I'll talk to her later.

Connor stares at me, his brown eyes looking both curious and slightly hurt. I could understand his hurt. I did send him away in a rude manner, which I actually regret. All I could think about was my mother and the letter and nothing else.

"We can't keep doing this," I whispered, finally managing to get out some words.

"What do you mean?" Connor asked, bravely taking a step forward.

"All this fighting. All this bickering. It'll crush the both of us at this point and I feel like I can't have a decent conversation with you because it's either you or I with some kind of problem. I know I'm not exactly a trusting person nor am I the easiest person to get along with but that's no excuse. We are both at fault."

"What do you propose we do? You won't listen to any of my orders nor-"

"Connor, stop. I...I'm in no mood to fight, I beg you."

More stupid tears begin to spring out of my eyes at the thought of my mother's letter but I quickly wipe them away, cursing myself for being so weak.

"What did your mother's letter say that upset you so much?" Connor asked, stepping forward even further to the point where he looms over me.

"Read it," I gasped, holding out the letter to him, "Read it, I don't mind."

Gingerly, Connor takes the letter from me and begins to read. I curl into a ball, hugging my legs close to my chest and staring at him until he finishes. His face does not change but he seems to be a little gentler in his movements.

"How...How did you deal with your mother's death?" I managed to whisper, "I know Mama is not dead but she's not far off it and I...I just feel so helpless an-and weak-"

"Sydney, you are not helpless nor weak," Connor said, "If you were either of those things, Achilles would not have allowed you to stay here, to become an Assassin. You are grieving. It is natural for you to act like this."

"Yes but I don't want to grieve. I want my father dead. I want Michael dead. I want every person who ever hurt me in this world dead and buried in the ground!"

Connor's eyes widen and I realise what I said. Connor hurt me once. Does that mean I'd want him gone too? No, never. Connor is just ignorant. He doesn't think sometimes, that's all. But...is that an excuse?

"Connor...I didn't mean...I..." I stuttered, stumbling on my words.

"I understand. I hurt you and I am sorry for that. If you wish me to leave-"

"NO! No...no...no. Don't leave," I begged, "I...don't really want to be alone right now."

My brain apparently hasn't fully registered my actions, as I just realise I'm gripping Connor's arm so hard I think I'll leave marks. I draw my arm back, staring at my hand.

"I-I...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that," I stuttered, "You can leave if you want, it's just..."

"I will stay but for a price," Connor said, "I will tell you what happened to my mother and you can tell me something equally as painful to remember. Does that sound alright?"

I open my mouth to respond but nothing comes out, no sound nor squeak of any kind. I simply nod, tugging the sleeve of his coat to get him to sit on the bed. I lean back against the head board and listen to Connor's story, while twirling my mothers locket in my fingers. Connor tells me of how he was playing in the woods before all the devastation, how he had been oblivious to what was going on. He tells me how he found his mother, Ziio, burning alive in the place he once called home. He tells me of how she sent him away, the final act of love a mother could give. Then on to Charles Lee and the rest of the Templar circle here in Boston and how they burned down the village on Haytham's orders. For a second, I vaguely wondered if my father had been involved but then quickly banished the thought, remembering that we were living in Berlin at the time. I was four and yet I could speak fluently in French, German and English. I could just think of Connor, reluctantly running away as his mother died willingly for her son.

"I'm so sorry, Connor," I said finally, "I know it's a bit late for that but I really am."

"Sorry will do my mother no good," Connor replied emotionlessly, his blank face showing small hints of guilt, "I always thought...that maybe if I stayed, I could have-"

"Died with her," I interrupted, "You would have died with her, Connor. You were a child. There was nothing you could do. Absolutely nothing."

"Yes but-"

"But nothing. Your mother did what she thought was best and if that meant that she had to die, then she was prepared to bare with that. Do not beat yourself up over something you couldn't control."

Connor looks at me with red, watery eyes, the memories of his mother obviously upsetting him. I suddenly feel a small twinge of guilt, guilt for making him stay and tell this horrific story. Luckily, I have plenty of horrific stories to tell. I reach out and squeeze his hand, smiling sadly.

"Did...Did I ever tell you how I got my scar?" I said, pulling back and shifting my collar to show the gruesome branding scar on my neck.

"You...you said your father branded you with the Templar cross when you disobey him."

"Yes, well...that's unfortunately a little white lie. It was my father who branded me but...there were...others."

"What? What do you mean 'others'?"

"It's better if I tell you the full story."

A sharp twinge of pain shoots out of my finger and I gasp, feeling blood seep out of the tiny cut made by my mother's locket. I had been twirling it so violently that one of the chain links had actually sprung free and pierced my skin. I look down the the small silver locket, no smudge with fresh red blood.

"What happened?" Connor asked, pulling the locket from my grasp.

"Nothing. I just...cut myself. Nothing to worry yourself over. I...um...I'd better get on with the story. Could I have my locket back? I think it's best if it remains around my neck instead of in my fingers were I could break it."

Cleaning the blood off the silver metal, Connor leans over and fastens the chain around my neck. My heart skips a beat as his fingers brush the back of my neck, goosebumps appearing on my arms as he sits back. I let out a shaky breath then begin.

"I was ten when it happened. We were living in London and Mama was away with friends in Paris. She would have brought me along with her, had Papa not told me to stay home. I received tutoring at home by a governess, a snarky, old hag who wouldn't know humour if it hit her square in the nose. She was constantly correcting me, like I was always doing something wrong. One day, I just...snapped. I punched her, so hard to the point where the shatter bones in her nose shot up to her brain and killed her. I had no idea what I had done, so I just stood there, in the drawing room, blood covering my little knuckles. Papa came home and saw what I had done. He was furious, furious to the point where I thought he might just kill me then and there. But what he did next was...much...much worse. I remember that in our home in London, we had a cell down in the cellar. Papa interrogated prisoners there and Mama and I were never allowed down there. Papa dragged me down the cellar by the hair, through me into the cell and left me there for three days, with no food and no water. After the three days, he came back with another man. Guess who the man was?"

"Do I really want to know?" Connor said, listening intently.

"_Your father _came down with Papa. I had no idea who he was and nor did I care. I was tired, hungry and nauseous and I hardly even noticed they were there. Until of course, they yanked me out of the cell and chained me to a chair. The rest...I don't remember quite well but I do remember...the pain. They held it against my skin for so long, I must have passed out at least three times. They kept me awake, as it was part of my punishment. After that...I did everything he told me to. I never misbehaved, right up until the day I ran away."

Connor stares at me, dumbfounded. His gaze then turns dark and a twinge of fear spikes in the pit of my stomach.

"Connor, calm down," I said, keeping my voice low, "It just happened. It's the past. I've gotten over it and I've moved on. Can you stop looking like you're going to murder someone?"

"He hurt you-"

"I was a child."

"That makes it even worse!"

"_Connor! _Calm down. Look, I...We can't keep doing this. This on and off crap, it's not working. We either work together or we don't work at all, understand? The more you try to protect me and shelter me, the more again aged I will get. I may be your apprentice but I can take care of myself."

"I know you can take care of yourself, Sydney. You just make stupid and reckless decisions sometimes that could get everyone else around you killed."

Another twenty minutes of arguing and name-calling eventually leads to an agreement, and a rather mutual one at that. We would work together from now on, not Connor first, Sydney second. As I get dressed for dinner, a small part of me keeps telling me that the agreement won't last and that all of this is for nothing but I block it out. I know it'll work and I'll be damned if it doesn't.

I slowly fold Mama's letter into a small square, small enough to fit inside my locket. I place it inside and close the small locket, fastening the chain around my neck.

The locket sits close to my heart, just where Mama shall always stay from now on. A part of me. Nothing more, nothing less.

* * *

**Okay, after at least twenty hours on damn aeroplanes and crappy food and minimal excitement, I am back in Australia! I miss the first week of school (thank God) so I'll try to get these chapters out a little quicker. Reviews are appreciated and it's good to know what people like and don't like. Sorry this AN is a little short but I have had very little sleep and I kind of want to go to bed, soooooo review, read, do whatever you usually do. Thanks for the support and for putting up with my rumblings and my slow updates. Annnd I'm gone now. Bye**


	10. Chapter 9: No Place, Time or Scenario

Chapter 9:

No Place, Time or Scenario

* * *

"Lucy, I swear to God, if you keep pushing me to bring you along to an assassination, I will tie you to a tree and leave you there for two days."

Lucy looks at me with an anger filled gaze, her arms held tightly at her sides. We've been arguing for a good half an hour now, about whether or not Lucy can come along with Connor and I to help in the assassination of John Pitcarn. Even though both Connor and I have told her that there is no way in hell she's coming with us until she's at least sixteen, she's still pushing us.

"But-"

"No buts," I said firmly, "You are not coming with us and that is final. Do you understand?"

"But why?" Lucy whined, stomping the ground with her foot and staring coldly at me.

"You are too young, too inexperienced and to be honest, at this rate, you'd be lucky if you lasted five minutes in the field. Now suck it up and go to your room."

With a frustrated groan, Lucy storms up the stairs and walks back into her room, slamming the door shut behind her. Lucy was always a drama queen, especially when she didn't get things her way. Rubbing my tired eyes, I walk into the living room, collapsing onto the lounge with a thud. A hand flew up to my locket, the metal cold against my warm skin, reminding me of my mother's fate. Connor had agreed to give me a day to collect myself before we started our search for John Pitcarn.

"Lucy giving you grief again?"

Achilles voice fills my ears and I sigh, sitting up to see the old man standing before her. He looks aged as usual, his posture no different than it was the first time she met him.

"Unfortunately, yes. She's been complaining that she hasn't been included in the search for Pitcarn, now that Johnson's dead," I groaned, "Why must having a little sister be such hard work?"

"Connor didn't tell you?" Achilles said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Didn't tell me what, Achilles?"

"Connor didn't kill Johnson. He said there was no need. He said he took you and left."

"What?! Bastard...he lied to me! He told me he had killed him."

"I'm sure he didn't want to worry you."

"By lying to me? Ugh, where is his tanned, Mohawk ass?! I'll skin it when I see him next."

A small chuckle comes from Achilles but he returns to seriousness in a matter of seconds.

"This is dangerous. Refraining from killing Johnson has put his village at risk and-"

"Threatened everything we're working towards," I interrupted, "I know. But when Connor thinks he's right, it's hard to tell him otherwise. I just wish he hadn't lied. Destroying the tea wasn't enough. My father and Haytham will see that he receives the funding to purchase the land."

"And I doubt your father will object."

"Never. Every order Haytham makes goes through my father. If he doesn't approve, the order doesn't stick. Papa has more money than sense but he has a brain as well. That kind of combination is deadly."

"I know. In the meantime, relax a little. When is Chelsea's wedding meant to be?"

"Next summer, July 15th. She hasn't shut up about it. I'm meant to be doing a fitting with her next week since all my materials and sample dresses arrived from Paris yesterday. Sofia and Elena were happy to hear from me. I haven't wrote to them in about six months, it's ridiculous."

"Friends will always come back when you ask for them. What do you plan to do today?"

"Sleep, paint, sketch and beat the hell out of Connor for lying to me. Or at least _try _to, I doubt I'll even make a scratch."

"I think you could make a scratch. A rather substantial scratch at that."

"Why thank you for the confidence. Now if you don't mind, I think I'll go to bed. I had hardly any sleep last night. I just hope no more nightmares will come."

Achilles begins to leave but then turns back to me for one final word of wisdom, in true Achilles style.

"When you are an Assassin, the nightmares never stop, Sydney. No matter how hard you try."

* * *

_Six Months Later..._

* * *

"Sydney?"

Lucy sits with her head in my lap, the sun making her hazel eyes sparkle as usual. Her training clothes are covered in dirt and grime, as well as her arms but I don't mind. I'm covered in the same dirt and grime as her, if not a little more. Achilles and Connor had double teamed on them and given them a five-hour long training session, complete with cuts and bruises. Lucy doesn't mind but I'm starting to loathe these sessions. I keep at it because of Lucy but it's just exhausting.

"Yes, _cherié?" _I said, staring down at her and blocking the sun with my back.

"When will you and Connor get together?"

I somewhat freeze, that one little question causing a small vein in my neck to twinge. The dreams of Connor and I haven't stopped, making my situation more and more complicated. I've been taking my frustration out on him, often engaging in arguments just for the sake of arguing. I want to hate him. I want to argue with him instead of love him. It would be better that way, less complicated. But my emotions are still confused and I no longer know what to do.

"What do you mean?" I asked hoarsely, crouching to clean my voice.

"I see the way he looks at you. And the way you look at him. It's kind of hard not to notice really. He'll do anything for you, you know that?"

"I don't _look at him _in any way but the normal way. You're imagining things."

It hurts me to lie to Lucy, to say everything's alright when everything most certainly isn't. The loud snapping of twigs causes Lucy to sit up in alarm, just as I look toward the source of the racket. Connor's friend, Kanen'tó:kon, races out of the woods, a frantic look on his face.

"Kanen'tó:kon, what is wrong?" Lucy asked, standing and approaching the man.

He begins to explain, in Mohawk of course. He speaks quite fast, so fast that I'm suddenly afraid that Lucy won't be able to understand him. She does and by the time he's finished, she's looks so pale I'm afraid she'll faint. Not many things scare Lucy but scaring her this badly is almost impossible.

"What's going on?" I asked, approaching them and putting a hand on Lucy's back, "What's happened?"

"Johnson has received enough funding to purchase our land," Kanen'tó:kon explained, "The land is to be sold if he is not stopped. He is meeting with our village elders as we speak."

"P_our l'amour de Dieu, ils n'abandonnent jamais?" _I growled, "Papa must have talked his superiors into funding his scheme."

"Where is Ratonhnhaké:ton?"

"Inside, with Achilles. Come on, I'll show you in."

I didn't really show him in. I more ran into the house and dragged Connor out into the hallway. Once Kanen'tó:kon had explained, Connor was furious.

"But we destroyed the tea!" He exclaimed.

"Well, it obviously wasn't enough," I snapped, "You should have killed Johnson when you had the chance. You shouldn't have lied to me. We could have finished him."

"The Templars are nothing if not resourceful," Achilles scolded Connor, "You should have heeded my warning. You should have killed him."

"How?" Connor gasped, looking to me for an answer.

"My father most likely funded his little escapade. Or he got superiors to help."

"We need to get to him now."

"Really? No shit, Connor!"

"Do not chastise me now, Sydney! Kanen'tó:kon, can you tell us where they are meeting?"

In a hurry, the three of us leave. Kanen'tó:kon and Connor engage in a conversation which I don't understand, the language barrier between us becoming quite annoying. Once we reach the clearing, Kanen'tókon explains his plan to Connor, who translates it into English for me.

"We'll have to go around," I said, "Slowly work our way up to them. There's no other way unless you want to be spotted."

"Of course," Connor agreed, "You take the treetops. I take the ground. Johnson is mine, you can take on the others surrounding him."

"Alright, whatever you say. Let's get going. We don't have much time."

"Agreed."

We set off in a hurry, leaving Kanen'tó:kon to wait for our return. Being much quicker than Connor, I reach the cliff a few minutes before him, although I am a little out of breath. Just as we planned, I take the treetops, jumping from branch to branch like Connor taught me when he first started teaching me. Connor sneaks through the bushes on the ground, hiding from the various guards and assassinating them when necessary. I have his back, taking out several different guards who had snuck up on him with my bow and arrow. My aim isn't as great as Connor's but it's accurate enough to kill each man with one hit.

It isn't long before we reach the meeting point. Connor hangs back while I listen in on the meeting.

"Have I not always been an advocate?" William Johnson said to the elders, his political tone causing my mouth to twist into a scowl, "Have I not always sought to protect you from harm?"

"If you had sought to protect us, then give us arms, muskets and horses so we might defend ourselves," One of the elders replied, suspicion hinted in his tone.

"War is not the answer."

"We remember," The elder said, standing and approaching Johnson in a hostile manner, "We remember you moved the borders. Even today your men dig up the land , showing no regard for those who live upon it. Your words are honeyed but false. We are not here to negotiate nor to make a sale. We are here to tell you and yours to leave these lands!"

The bitter hate in the elder's voice forces a sadistic smile to corrupt my lips. I remember how my mother would talk of the natives, of how they were wise and could see reason where others could not. This is proof that her words were true.

Johnson pauses for a second before answering back, nodding his head in a defeated manner. The little voice in my head tells me something's not right and I begin to question what comes after this.

"So be it," Johnson said darkly, "I offered you an olive branch and you knocked it from my hand."

"Uh oh," I muttered, my grip on my dagger tightening as Johnson steps back.

With one flick of Johnson's wrist, guards step force, muskets trained on the elders. My heart skips a beat and I suck in a sharp breath. _And there's the monster, rearing it's ugly head, _I thought.

"Perhaps you'll respond better to the sword," Johnson said, his tone eerily calm.

One of the other elders steps forth, "Are you threatening us?"

"Yes."

One word and I jump down from my hiding spot, landing on a guard and shoving my hidden blade into the back of my neck, severing his spinal column. Johnson stares at me in awe and I give a sweet smile.

"Sorry to interrupt," I said, "But this little agreement is going no where but off the nearest cliff."

Guards lunge at me, distracting me enough to let Johnson escape. It's doesn't particularly bother me because out of the corner of my eye, I can see Connor in the treetops, chasing after him at full pelt. I turn my gaze from Connor and focus on the guards, who all seem to be entirely focused on killing me. Two men with muskets charge forth, one firing accidentally, causing me to swivel just out of range and knock into an elder. I regain my balance and stab the first man in the throat before performing a sweeping kick and knocking the second man off his feet. One sharp slash to the throat and he's gone.

One man smack me from behind, hitting me in the back of the head with the barrel of his pistol and causing stars to appear in my vision for a split second. I quickly throw my arms back, performing a quick backwards walk over and slamming my foot down on his head in the process. He falls to the ground, my legs wrapping around his neck and snapping it for good measure.

The rest of the battle is a blur, the constantly slashing and kicking blurring together until I no longer know who's my enemy and who isn't. After killing what seemed like the last man, a slight tap on my shoulder sends me spinning around, dagger in hand, ready to strike. A hand quickly catches my wrist before I can bring the blade down and it take me a second to register who's in front of me.

Connor looks down at me, his grip on my wrist loosening as I recognise who he is. I'm suddenly aware of how close we are, my face just inches away from his. He's always been taller than me but it seems like I've grown a little, just enough to see into his eyes. My heart hammers in my chest as we stare into each others eyes, the intensity of the scene causing little alarm bells to go off in my head. Memories of my various dreams come back to me and I take a step back, hands shaking.

The sickening smell of blood hits me and I fight back against the bile rising in my throat. I never stopped to look at the bodies of those I killed, since I'm always afraid of their dead eyes and their chests that no longer rise and fall as they once had. Staring at the destruction around me, my hand goes to the locket around my neck, where my mother's letter now resides.

How long has it been since that night? The night where my mother risked everything and sent me away along with Lucy? It seems like so long ago. Back then I was a scared seventeen-year-old girl and now, I am a woman. An Assassin. The thought lingers in my mind but I quickly banish it, refusing to show my pain in front of Connor.

"There are more of them coming, Sydney," Connor said, "Johnson is dead. We must leave."

"Of course," I replied, my voice barely registering as a whisper, "The cliffs edge. Jump into the water. It's the quickest way."

Connor nods and just as more guards come our way, we run to the cliffs edge and dive. Being who I am, an artist, gymnast and somewhat dancer, my dive is much more graceful and I enter the water with minimal splash. Connor on the other hand, with broad shoulders and bulky frame, has a less than graceful splash. Somehow, I manage to swallow water on my way to shore and I come out of the water coughing and retching. The water tastes bitter in my mouth and I cough up as much of it as I can, the terrible acid feeling stuck in the back of my throat.

"Are you alright?" Connor asked, who seems as breathless as me.

"Oh fine," I groaned, "Just swallowed half the lake is all."

I take a quick glance over to Connor, now seeing blood seeping out of various places on his arms and torso. In the sunlight and with his hood down, I can see the creases on his forehead and the sharp cut along his jaw. A sarcastic comment comes to me and I can't help but say it out aloud.

"Smile, Connor. Your face is far too pretty to be creased with lines."

* * *

"So what did you learn? Did Johnson tell you anything?"

Connor stares at the ground as I ask questions, my hands covering with blood as I mend his wounds as best as I can. We've been down here a while now, in the training room and the room reeks of dead blood and smoke from the candles lit up around the room. My dress is ruined, the fawn coloured now blotched with scarlet red blood. I had no real injuries, apart from a few scrapes and bruises as usual. Connor was a little more substantial. I'm guessing he faced a few guards when he went after Johnson but I couldn't be bothered to ask.

"There was a letter on his person. I have not read it yet but I plan to soon," Connor replied, wincing a little as I finish a stitch.

"Cry baby," I mumbled, cutting the silk and setting down the needle.

"I am not," Connor replied defensively, standing and slipping his shirt back over his head.

"You are when it comes to stitches," I chuckled, beginning to clean all my equipment, "And you owe me. It'll take me weeks to wash out the blood on this dress."

"You have others."

"That's not the point! I...never mind. Could you help clean up? Or are you going to run off and eat dinner like you usually do?"

"What do you mean? Are you saying I am a pig?"

"Sweetie, you eat twice as much as me. Actually make that thrice as much."

"You are tiny and slender. And you are female."

"Ohh, so now you're a pig _and _a sexist. It all makes sense now."

Connor rolls his eyes at my teasing but I can see the corners of his mouth being stretched into a ghost of a smile. His gaze turns from me to the paintings on the wall, the paintings of our various enemies in the Templar circle. The painting of my father hangs to the left and I feel my stomach drop almost every time I look at it. It's a constant reminder of who he is and what he's done. What he's done to my mother...

A sharp pain causes me to come back to my senses, the wet feeling of blood seep out of the thin cut along my palm causing my teeth to chitter.

"Shoot," I gasped, quickly reaching for the bandages, "I really need to watch what I'm doing."

The small sensation of warmth almost makes me jump out of my skin as Connor takes my injured hand. Kneeling down, he slowly turns my hand so that my cut is in full view, red blood seeping out of the shallow cut. It stings but it's nothing I can't handle. What I _can't_ handle is Connor being this close, this personal. A shiver runs up my spine as Connor cleans the wound exactly as I would have and bandages it with gentle hands. I can feel myself shaking, the air surrounding us quickly becoming electric.

When he's done, he looks up at me, his brown gentle eyes fixed on my own jade ones. His gaze makes my heart lurch and I accidentally let out a whimper, cursing myself as soon as the sound passes my lips.

"Why are you shaking?" He asked, his voice sounding like music in my ears.

"There...are so many reasons," I whispered, gently drawing my hand back and folding it into my lap, "Why did you do that?"

Connor's response was almost instant, "Because I hate to see you hurt."

Air hitches in my throat and I abruptly stand, turning my back to him. I must not show my weakness. I cannot show him what I truly feels. My past thoughts linger in my head and I find myself repeating them. _There is no place, time or scenario where we can be together. _

"None at all," I whispered, hugging my torso protectively.

"Sydney, did I do something wrong?" Connor asked from behind me.

"No," I replied, "No, Connor, _you _are not at fault here. Instead...it is I, who is at fault."

Without another word, I run away, running up the stairs and heading straight for the front door. Nothing and no one can stop me as I burst out of the house, running as far as I can until I reach a cliffs edge. There I collapse onto the green grassed ground, my body shaking and my head pounding.

And there I sit, alone and broken, with only the beautiful painted sky and wonderful orange sunset to comfort me.


	11. Chapter 10: Like Father, Like Daughter

Chapter 10:

Like Father, Like Daughter

* * *

Time has not seemed to help our situation. Pitcarn has turned out to be a rather slippery individual, having escaped a recent battle that Connor and I were engaged in. He fled just as we achieved victory, much to Connor's annoyance. He's becoming more and more desperate, since every time Pitcarn is in our grasp he somehow manages to slip through the cracks in our fingers.

My situation with Connor has gotten worse, considering a number of occasions have turned awkward quite fast. I can't work him out. I don't know whether he returns my feelings or is just being naive towards me. I try to keep my little weakness hidden but I am afraid it is slipping through.

Chelsea's wedding has been and gone. I never thought I'd ever see the girl this happy but I was wrong. Alise has followed up on the wedding by announcing her engagement to David, although the wedding probably won't be until the war has ended. I've been saved the expense of making her dress, as she has taken a fancy to one of the sample dresses Elena sent me. I'm just fitting it to her size now. Sofia and Elena plan to come over in the spring, just in time for my birthday. All the girls are making such a big deal about it but I don't see it. I'll be nineteen this birthday, almost a full woman.

There has been no news on my mother, not that I mind. I have accepted her forthcoming death and I expect nothing else to surprise me. Lucy has grown quite a lot, her eleventh birthday closing in as fast as mine. All she wants is to be brought along to a mission, so I agreed to take her along to the next opening. She isn't the little girl she once had been. She's turning into a young lady now, a lady capable of great things.

A new Commander-in-Chief has been appointed, a man by the name of George Washington. I find myself sitting in the meeting where he accepts his new position, much to my protest. Connor sits on one side of me, looking far more interested than me and Sam Adams sits on the other side, looking just as fixated on Washington as Connor. I've always hated politicians and I find that war commanders are just the same. They speak both speak lies and sneak their way up the imaginary chain of command. The only difference is, war commanders actually deserve their positions.

"I don't see why I had to be brought along to this," I grumbled, staring at my newly manicured nails, "I hate politicians."

"George Washington is not a politician," Sam exclaimed, "He is a General."

"They are one in the same," I said defensively, "They both speak lies."

"But the lies _he _speaks encourages a nation, not sends it crumbling to the ground."

"Sure, whatever you say. Connor, why are _you _so fixated on him? You do know Chelsea and Alise are going to tackle you for dragging me away from lunch. And I have to prepare the homestead for Sofia and Elena. I cannot be wasting time with this."

"Freedom is a waste of time?" Connor said suspiciously.

"No, listening in on meetings is a waste of time. I just hope this Washington is as good with an army as he is with his tongue."

"Truly there is no man better suited to the task," Sam said, only to be interrupted by a voice from behind us.

"Really? I can think of several."

The familiarity of the voice was all too clear and I recognize the sadistic tone of Charles Lee. I instantly look over to Connor, who has suddenly become so furious, I'm afraid he'll swing around and shoot Lee where he sits.

"Charles Lee," Connor growled, standing and turning toward Lee.

I instantly shoot up with him and put a hand on his arm, gripping it a little harder than necessary.

"Do I know you?" Lee asked calmly.

"I would not expect you to remember," Connor snarled, going to step forward.

Sam and I step into action, Sam holding Connor back while I force Connor's gaze on me.

"Connor," I warned, "Calm down. He's not worth the trouble. Don't start a fight here."

Connor turns his eyes to Lee but I place a hand on his cheek and force his eyes to mine.

"Hey, look at me. _Look at me. _He isn't worth the trouble, alright? Come on."_  
_

"You should listen to your little whore, boy," Lee sighed, "I am a rather dangerous man."

I turn, a sweet, innocent smile plaguing my face, "Call me a whore again and you won't have a tongue to say anything else."

With that, Sam and I manage to get Connor over to Washington without a fight, although Connor gives Lee one last dirty look before turning his attention to the Commander.

"Connor, Sydney, I'd like you to meet our new Commander-in-Chief, George Washington," Sam introduced us, trying to keep the mood light.

"Ah, so you two were the ones who saved Sam and John at Lexington," Washington said.

"It was the Patriots who did that. We...merely lent support," Connor replied, retaining his humble nature.

"Maybe a little more than that," I added, "It's good to meet you Commander."

"The pleasure is mine, my lady," Washington said politely, "Strange...for a woman of your stature to have no husband at this age. Your age being nineteen, I am guessing."

"I turn nineteen in the spring, Commander. And I wouldn't worry about the husband thing. The thought of maintaining the well-being of a man the rest of my life sounds like an awful lot of work and the thought of a child growing inside me scares me more than anything."

"Strange woman, indeed. Nonetheless, I'm sure men would line up for you if the time came."

I smile politely and find myself blushing in embarrassment, something very uncommon for me.

"We could use more men like you, Connor," Washington stated, shaking Connor's hand, "As humble as he is brave. Now if you'll excuse me, I should attend to Charles over there. He looks none too happy about being passed over for command. It was good to meet you, Connor, Sydney."

With a simple nod, Washington heads over to Charles. Connor goes straight to business as soon as Washington is out of earshot.

"Tell me you have news of Pitcarn," He demanded, turning his gaze to Sam.

"I'm told he's taking shelter in Boston," Sam replied, "Where he's being guarded by a thousand redcoats. The only way you're going to get at him, is if we draw him out. Lucky for you, we're launching an offensive against the city to do just that. Israel Putnam has been given command of our forces."

Reaching into his jacket, Sam pulls out a letter and hands it to Connor, "Present this to him and he'll provide whatever aid you require. You'll find him at the encampment on Bunker Hill."

"You have my thanks," Connor said emotionlessly, almost convincing me that he was just being polite.

"No need. It's the least I could do. Pitcarn's a dangerous man. The sooner we're rid of him, the better."

"I would say the same of Charles Lee."

"Now that's an altogether different beast. Let us leave it for another day. You two best head to Boston. Try to keep him out of trouble, Sydney."

I roll my eyes, a smirk reaching my mouth, "Full time occupation. Come on, Corporal. We have a battle to win."

* * *

The sound of cannon fire rings in my ears as we approach the General's position, which conveniently is not Bunker Hill. Cannonballs fly past, only narrowly missing Connor and I as we approach General Putnam. I curse under my breath, the words somehow coming out in harsh German like a reflex.

"My father's made too much of an impression on me," I mumbled to no one in particular, earning a backwards glance from Connor.

"What are you mumbling about?" He asked, his voice only barely audible over the loud bangs of a ships cannons.

"Nothing. Like I said before, insane ramblings."

Just as the General is in view, a cannonball flies past, bowling three men over. I can see one of the men, lying on the ground, bleeding and missing a leg whilst screaming in pain. I fight back against the acid taste stuck in the back of my throat, the sight causing my stomach to lurch.

"I rest my case," The General said, completely unphased by the sight, "Good day, gentlemen. I'm going back to Bunker Hill."

The General begins to walk off but Connor quickly stops him, "General Putnam?"

"What?" Putnam snapped, turning abruptly to face us.

"I am looking for John Pitcarn. I was told you would be able to help me-" A sharp punch to the shoulder causes Connor to rethink his words, as he completely left me out of the equation, "Help _us _locate him."

"He's tucked away inside that city with no reason to leave. So long as that ship continues it's assault, we'll never flush him out."

"But if the ship was silenced..."

"Then poor John might be forced to get off his arse and step forward."

"I really don't like where you're going with this, Connor," I said warningly as Connor bends down and picks up a discarded flag.

"I shall fly this flag as soon as the ship has been silenced."

"And I shall speak fondly of you at your funeral," Putnam answered back, walking off and leaving us to the task of running through the cannon fire just to get to the ships.

I turn to Connor, an annoyed look on my face, "Well, that was a bright idea, Corporal. Next time, try to make it _non-_suicidal."

Connor does not answer but instead changes the subject, "How do you suppose we get through the line of fire?"

"_Without _getting blown to pieces? Just keep moving. A cannon ball won't hit you if you move out of the way fast enough. Just keep running and we'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Is the sun coming up? Of course, I'm sure. Let's get going, Corporal. Before I lose my nerve."

And with that, we set off. Weaving through the town was a lot easier than I originally thought, although I am faster than most. I manage to reach the docks without getting blown to pieces, although I have a few scrapes from the times I tripped over and skidded on the ground before jumping back up and continuing to run. I can feel the warm blood trickling down my knees and staining my trouser legs but I don't care. The sea water should help them but they'll sting for a while, I know that. Connor arrives a few seconds after me, if not a little more breathless than me.

It seems that Putnam was wrong. There are actually two ships and both are firing cannonballs like it's going out of style.

"So let me guess: I'm gonna take the one on the left, you the right?" I said, raising my voice so that Connor could hear me clearly.

"Of course. What else would we do?"

"I was being sarcastic, Corporal. You know, like normal."

"I thought not. Get moving. Like you said, we do not have time to waste."

I groan, rolling my eyes before diving into the lukewarm sea water. I can feel the salt stinging my knee caps as I swim, but I ignore it, biting my lip under the water to distract myself from the pain. Thankfully, it helps but once I reach the ship, I can hardly feel my legs.

Pulling myself up onto the side of the ship, I try to regain the feeling in my legs. Slowly, the feeling comes back, after a lot of jumping against the boat and slow climbing. Pulling myself up onto the deck of the boat, I quickly run toward the centre of the boat and plant the charge. The redcoats have no time to stop me, as I am already gone, diving off the edge of the boat just as the charge goes off. The sound of the explosion is muffled by the sound of water in my ears and I swim to shore without a second glance.

As I reach the docks, I quickly glance back towards Connor's ship. The flag flies from the top but I cannot see Connor anywhere. For a second, my heart stops and I can feel my eyes widen.

"Where is that crazy bastard?" I whispered, my hand flying up to my locket in a reflex.

As my eyes search the water, I feel my heart hammering against my ribcage as I become more and more desperate. The sudden feeling of cold water touching my shoulder causes me to jump and I swing around, my hand clenched into a fist.

Connor snatches my wrist, water dripping off us like rain. I let out a sigh of relief and throw my arms around him, without even making a second thought.

"Jesus Christ, Connor!" I gasped, "Don't ever do that again, you bastard! You scared the hell out of me."

To my surprise, Connor hugs me back, letting me bury my face in his neck. It makes me feel better, although some part of me is telling me to back off and run away.

"Sydney, I am sorry," Connor whispered in my ear, "I did not mean to scare you-"

"Just promise me you won't do it again," I exclaimed, pulling back and staring into his eyes, "I swear to God, Connor, if anything happened to you-"

Cutting off my last few words, Connor leans down and presses his lips against mine. I'm stunned to begin with but then, I realise what's going on. He's inexperienced of course, since he's always been so focused on his work as an Assassin and he's probably never kissed a girl in his life before this. I'm slow at first, silently showing him how this should be done. Thankfully, Connor's a fast learner. But just as the kiss gets a little deeper, I pull away.

"Come on," I said, my voice sounding a little more hoarse than expected, "We should get to Putnam. Lord knows that I'd love to see his face when he finds out we took out the ships."

Just as I start to walk away, Connor snatches my hand and tugs me back to him.

"Hang on..." Connor said, cupping my cheek and staring into my eyes, "How...Why-"

"Connor," I said firmly, "We'll talk about this later but right now...Pitcarn is our concern."

Pulling out of Connor's arms, I turn and head back to toward the encampment. As I do, I pull my hood lower and smile, the feeling of warmth on my lips causing the memory of Connor to slip back into my mind. Even though, I'm probably happier than I've ever been, there's still a little voice inside my head that's constantly telling me to run away and hide. For some reason, I feel like I should trust it because really...when have I ever trusted my heart?

* * *

"You want to go _through _the firing line?!" I exclaimed, "Are you _insane?!"_

Thankfully, Pitcarn hasn't skipped out completely but he is hiding behind a least a thousand redcoats, armed with muskets firing our way. Connor, obviously, came up with yet _another _suicidal plan, to run straight through No-Man's Land to get to Pitcarn. Of course, he won't listen to sense, in true 'Connor' style, insisting upon going forth with this stupid, stupid plan.

"I see no other option," Connor said ever so calmly.

"That's because you're as mad as a march hare, son," General Putnam sighed, saying exactly what I was thinking.

Connor gives Putnam a rather heated death stare before snapping back, "I expect an apology on our return."

Connor walks off and I follow him, rolling my eyes at his stubbornness. _Mad as a march hare is an understatement when it comes to Connor. _

Grabbing onto Connor's shoulder, I pull him back just as he's about to run into the firing line. I drag him down onto ground, much to his protest.

"Corporal, you either do this my way or you don't do it at all," I snapped, "If you go running out there right now, you will get shot a thousand times before you could even suck in your next breath, got it? We wait until they have all fired. They need at least a minute and a half to reload, that gives us time to run to the next cover. When we're in the clear, then we can go free run. Do you understand me?"

"Why must you always be so forceful?" Connor growled, his brown eyes flashing fury.

"Because you never listen. For once, use that brain of yours and _think. _I know you always think you're right but sometimes...you have to listen to those around you. Now do as I say and don't get yourself killed or so help me God, I will bring you back from the dead and murder you just to make a point!"

Through all my scolding, Connor manages a small smile, "Is Pitcarn yours or mine?"

"Well, who's do you think he is?" I said, releasing my hidden blade just for show, "Ready?"

Peering over the edge of the dirt, I watch the firing lines. _One, two, three, four, five, FIRE! _White lights erupt in the sea of red like fireworks and once the lights stop, I run. _Fifty-seven, fifty-six, fifty-five..._I duck down into cover, glancing back to see Connor right on my tail. I glance back up at the redcoats, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Thirty-one, twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven," I whispered, tapping anxiously against the wood.

"What are you doing?" Connor whispered, his tone suggesting he's agitated.

"Counting. What does it look like? Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen, sixteen-"

"Why?"

"Thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten. Get ready. Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. _Down!" _

Just as the fireworks start again, I duck down, a bullet zooming over my head just as I do. _One, two, three, four, five, run. _Bolting out of cover, I realise the next cover is further away than I thought. It only makes me run faster.

_Thirty-five, thirty-four, thirty-three, thirty-two...Oh God, this is insane. Mental note to self: Never listen to any of Connor's stupid plans again. _

I slam my back into the wood of cover, wincing a little as I do. Mumbling a string of curses in French, I peer up at the redcoats before continuing counting. Connor arrives at my side a few seconds after that, grabbing the back of my coat and yanking me down into cover.

"Stop that," He snapped, "You are going to get shot if you keep doing that."

"I need to know when we can run!" I hissed, shaking myself out of his grasp, "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one."

After a repeating the process once more, we manage to get to the forest. We run through the trees, although Connor is faster than me because of his natural skill for free-running. Rock-climbing is also more _his _skill but as soon as we're up on the edge, I'm superior. Being quicker on my feet and a lot less bulky and muscular, I slip past guards with ease. Connor must assassinate guards to get past them, although he does manage to hide from a few of them.

At the sight of Pitcarn, I pounce. Jumping out of my hiding spot, I begin the fight. The battle is one massive blur to me, the scene somehow speeding up in my eyes and making me dizzy. It takes me a few seconds to realise the person I am now fighting is actually John Pitcarn.

His moves are choppy and random; the result of terrible swordplay training in the military. I easily dodge his strikes, managing to knock his sword from his hand and kick him to the ground. I swiftly stab him just below the heart, not enough to kill him instantly but enough to keep him alive long enough so that Connor can question him.

"Why...Why did you do this?" Pitcarn gasped, blood covering his chest and hands.

"To protect Adams and Hancock-and those they serve," Connor said coolly, "You meant to kill them-"

"Kill them?" Pitcarn exclaimed, almost looking outraged, "Are you mad? I wanted only to parley. There was so much to discuss...to explain. You've put an end to that now!"

"If you speak true, then I will carry your last words to them."

"They must lay down their arms. They must stop this war."

"Why them and not the redcoats?"

"Do you not think we ask the same question of the British? These things take time-"

"Time in which far more lives could be lost," I interrupted, "Time is spoken of as if it is not something to be treasured."

Pitcarn laughs, a hoarse deathly laugh that sends chills down my spine, "You're just like your father. Always paranoid. Always questioning things. A family trait, I expect."

His words hit me like a bucket of ice cold water dumped on my head. Shivers run through my whole body and I jerk away, standing and backing away from him. How dare he compare me to my father? I am nothing like him. He is a monster in the form of a man. He is someone who truly deserves the title of evil. He shows nothing but bitter hate and disrespect towards others. He is self-righteous and egotistical. He cares for no one but himself. _But Sydney...don't you do the exact same thing? _

I do not recall what Pitcarn said next. Nor did I care. I was left with the sad realisation that I am actually more like my father than I thought. Does that mean that I am a monster as well? Do I deserve to die just as much as him?

Pitcarn dies, to which Connor mutters something in Mohawk like usual. He pulls a letter from Pitcarn's limp hand, standing as he unfolds it. We barely have time to examine the contents of the letter before more redcoats pour in, leaving us to flee.

All the while, memories of Papa's torture slip into my fragile mind through some infernal filter. I remember how he beat me, how he cut me, how he would make sure I screamed every time he hurt me. Did I not wish that upon my enemies? Did I not wish for them to die screaming? Did I not wish that they die slowly and painfully, shown no mercy at all?

Whether they deserved that kind of death or not did not matter to me. All I knew was that I, in some ways, am just as brutal and cruel as my father.


	12. Chapter 11: Birthday Girl

Chapter 11:

Birthday Girl

* * *

Loud laughter echoes in my room as all my friends barge in, Chelsea and Alise with Sofia and Elena in tow. I groan into my pillow, hiding my face from my early-riser friends.

"Come on, sleepy head," Sofia exclaimed, her thick French accent making every word sound seductive, "We don't have all day."

I feel someone climb onto my back and straddle me, their hands on my shoulders. They expertly flip me over, only to fall onto the bed with me. I realise it's Alise, her auburn hair spread out in fiery waves across the pillow. She laughs and giggles along with eveRhine else, including me despite the fact that I'm unbelievably tired.

Despite the kiss we shared, Connor and I still bicker like we did before. If anything, the fighting has increased and so has the intensity of the fights. Last night, we had a screaming match here in my bedroom, which _somehow _resulted in a rather steamy kiss. I don't quite remember the details but I do remember still be quite angry about whatever we were fighting about. I was not angry about the kiss however.

Groaning, I reluctantly throw the covers back and stand on stiff legs. My hair flows free and messy and the nagging urge to brush every last knot out of my hair has started poking at my groggy brain.

"Can I go back to bed?" I complained, collapsing into my desk chair.

"No. There is no excuse to sleep in on such a big day," Chelsea said, hugging my shoulders and resting her chin on my left shoulder.

"I'm nineteen. Big whoop," I grumbled, "I don't see why I can't sleep in till at least noon. What time is it anyway?"

"Half-past eight."

"What?! Why would you do this to me? I never get up this damn early."

"You've been up at dawn with Connor."

"Only because I have to be. _This _is inexcusable."

"Oh stop complaining," Elena sighed, her accent matching Sofia's, "At this rate, you'll be as angry as the time when you thought the dinner table moved on it's own and we all had a full fledged argument about it."

I turn my head to look at Elena, "That table moved and you know it."

Rolling her eyes, Elena moves over to me and shoos Chelsea away, "Go on, leave. We have work to do and you two have a dress to pick up."

Without another word, Chelsea and Alise leave, supposedly to pick my new dress that I don't remember ordering. Sofia's work, no doubt. Elena guides me over to my dressing table and, along with Sofia, begin to brush my hair and pamper me to perfection.

"I don't see how this is necessary," I said as Sofia files my nails down.

Looking down at her, I can see why so many men look her way when she passes by. With waist length fair blonde hair that's currently pulled up into a bun, long limbs and a slender, curvy body, she's a perfect picture of beauty. Her pale complexion is brightened by the paint-like make-up on her face, with emerald green eyeshadow to match her silky dress and pale pink lip that blends well with her blush. Her deep blue eyes shine when the light hits them and they sparkle every time she smiles. I always admired Sofia, not just for her looks but also for her confidence and endless happiness. Nothing gets her down. Absolutely _nothing. _

"It's absolutely necessary," Sofia replied, coating my nails in a clear polish as a first coat, "Especially if you want to impress Connor."

"Is that what this all about? Oh God, now I have all my friends invading on my love life. Pleasant."

"Well, _this _is for the day in town but we're all hoping he sees you."

"Don't bet on it. We had an argument last night, a rather big argument might I add."

"I'm assuming it didn't end too well?"

"Uh...can I not answer that question?"

The memory of last night is fresher in my mind, now that I've had my first cup of coffee and I'm more awake. We were arguing about the next assassination. Connor wanted me to stay behind, to _'protect'_ me he said. I was furious and we ended up screaming at each other.

* * *

_"I can handle myself perfectly well, Connor!" I screamed, fighting the urge to shove the man against the wall, "I don't need you looking after me! I'm not a child."_

_"I will not lose you, Sydney," Connor snapped back, grabbing my shoulders and staring down into my eyes, "Not after-"_

_"After what? After we kissed? I'm not your responsibility, Connor. _I _am my own responsibility. You don't own me either, if that's what you think."_

_"That is not what I think-"_

_"Then why are you so annoyingly protective of me, even when you know I'm perfectly capable-"_

_"Let me finish a sentence, Sydney!"_

_With that, there's silence in the room. The cold sends shivers up my spine and goosebumps appear on my skin. Connor's hands are warm on the exposed portion of my shoulders, the sensation making me wish for a little more. My mind begins to wander, thinking of his hands running over my body, his hot mouth on mine and his body pressed against mine. _

_In a moment of raw instinct, I wrap my arms around Connor's neck and I pull his face down to mine. As soon as our lips touch, something snaps inside me and I let all my anger give way to passion. I feel Connor give in as well as he pulls me closer. I run my fingers through his now loose hair, moaning lightly into his mouth. I didn't realise we were walking backwards but as my back hits the wall and Connor presses against me, I feel a flutter of excitement spark in the pit of my stomach. _

_A shudder runs through me as Connor's hands move down to my thighs, lifting my skirts up to mid-thigh as he raises me high on the wall and I wrap my legs around his waist. The little flutter of excitement from before grows and I feel moisture begin to pool between my legs. A small voice of common sense gets through to me and I reluctantly pull away from Connor. My heart beats so loudly, I'm afraid Connor can hear it and I bite my lip in embarrassment._

_"I'm sorry," I whispered, leaning my forehead against his, "I'm not ready for...for this."_

_Pulling his head away from mine, Connor slowly begins to kiss my neck, earning a pleasured moan from me._

_"What is this to you then?" He asked between kisses._

_"G-Get...Get away," I stuttered, "Stop. I said I wasn't ready to go this far."_

_When Connor doesn't respond, I shove him away with all my strength, the fury I thought I discarded coming back to me in a wave. _

_"Get out," I growled, "I don't feel like talking right now. Get out."_

_"Sydney-"_

_"GET OUT, CONNOR! I WANT TO BE ALONE! I DO NOT WANT TO TALK TO YOU, UNDERSTAND?"_

* * *

I cringe at the memory, regretting yelling at him. I just wasn't ready to go that far and Connor wouldn't back off. Still, I feel guilty for treating him that way.

Elena runs her fingers through my now silky hair, checking it for any knots that she might have missed. I remember how she used to do my hair when we lived in Paris, how she said she wanted my hair. I used to wonder why, since Elena was beautiful already and having my hair would just ruin her.

Staring at her in the mirror, I can see that her beauty has only increased over the years. Her once girlish face has become sharper and more striking, the golden hazel of her eyes standing out like pure gold against her charcoal black hair that falls in delicate waves down her back. Her simple black long-sleeved dress matches her hair, the dress looking so plain next to Sofia's emerald green dress that she obviously made herself. Her blood red lipstick stands out against all the black but her smoky-eye eyeshadow mixes well with her whole ensemble.

Seeing my two friends makes me wonder. It makes me wonder about what would have happened if I was born into a different family. If Mama had married another man before she married my father and I was that man's daughter instead. Would we have lived in Paris? Would Mama have been the same? Would he have loved me when Papa never could?

These questions are useless of course. What has happened, has happened. There is no changing it. After about half an hour, I can hardly recognise myself in the mirror. Gold glitter eyeshadow covers my eyelids, with gold eyeliner to match. I wear the same lipstick as Sofia, the colour matching to pale pink tone to my cheeks. Elena has expertly braided my hair to the side, the thick braid falling over one shoulder.

"Wow," I gasped, my fingers twirling around the end of my braid, "You girls have really outdone yourselves."

Placing her hands on my shoulders and leaning down to my ear, Sofia smiles mischievously, "Not yet we haven't."

A puzzled look crosses my face just as Chelsea and Alise burst into my room, Simon following them in while carrying a rather large box. I turn in their direction, standing from my chair and approaching them. Simon looks as he always has; short messy dirty blonde hair that always seems to look right, sparkling shy blue eyes and the small stubble along his jaw. He smiles in my direction, his smile matching Sofia's.

"Finally looking like a lady, I see," He teased, earning an elbow from Chelsea.

"It's nice to see you too, Simon," I replied sarcastically before turning my attention to Chelsea, "What is this?"

"An expensive gift for the birthday girl," Chelsea chimed, lifting the lid of the box.

Even through the fine tissue paper, I can see a dress in black and white, neatly folded in the box. I gingerly part the tissue paper and lift the dress out of the box. It looks perfectly tailored to my measurements, with short sleeves that go to the elbow and a rather showy neckline. The embroidery is extravagant, with black swirls and designs stitched onto the pearl white fabric of the skirts. The designs extend upwards to the black fabric of the torso, changing to white thread instead of black. This has Elena's designing written all over it but the tailoring is all Sofia's work. It's not something I would usually wear but at least they didn't use a bright colour for the base. It's good to know that they remember I hate bright colours on dresses. I love it nonetheless and I hug it close to my chest, spinning around with it like an excited little girl

"Oh, it's beautiful," I exclaimed, slowing down and facing Sofia and Elena, "Thank you so much."

"It was the least we could do," Elena said, smiling proudly, "We remembered you like things simple, so black and white was appropriate. The embroidery was Sofia's idea, not mine."

"Well, it's gorgeous. I'm assuming you all want me to wear it?"

"Why ask a question when you know the answer's going to be 'Hell yes!'?" Alise said, "I'm sure Connor will admire it."

I roll my eyes, walking behind my French screen to start getting dressed, "I don't know who's gift this is. Mine or Connor's?"

"Well, it's for both of you," Chelsea chimed, "Simon told me about last night. You really love 'em and leave 'em, don't you dear?"

"Oh shut up!" I yelled, "Simon, I'm going to kill you!"

"Don't get me involved!" I hear Simon yell, "I was just here because Chelsea asked me to be. End of story!"

"How did you-oh my God, I'm going to kill Connor for talking about us. Jesus!"

"I'm his friend. We talk. That just...somehow came up."

"Over ale actually," Chelsea added and I hear Simon make a noise of protest, "We'll meet you downstairs, Sydney."

"Yeah, sure. Hey, Soph, could I have some help here?"

After ten minutes of fussing, my dress eventually comes on. It fits perfectly and the material feels soft, not scratchy against my skin. Looking in the full length mirror, I feel like I'm looking at a painting of my mother. I look so much like her, from the jade in my eyes to the small smile on my face. Everything looks so unrecognisable.

"Let's go," Sofia said, "I'm sure Chelsea is already impatient by now."

A smile crosses my face as we walk to the door and I push away any doubt in my mind. It's my birthday. I deserve a little happiness today, not sorrow, guilt or shame. Slowly, the incident with Connor, the Revolution and the threat of my father's rage become distant memories. At least...for one day.

* * *

"I need coffee. A _lot _of coffee."

Achilles gives me a questioning look as I walk into the kitchen and collapse onto a chair.

"A little too much to drink last night?" He asked, handing me a mug of steamy black coffee, no milk just the way I like it.

"A _'little' _too much was probably a lot more an necessary," I groaned, downing half my coffee in one gulp.

"How are Elena and Sofia faring?"

"Fine. Or at least I think so. They can hold their liquor."

"They haven't come out of their rooms in a while."

"Sofia and Elena will sleep all day if they want to. Trust me, they actually did it once to prove a point. They're fine. They go back to Europe in a few days, so I think they'll enjoy resting for a while. Where's Connor? He's always up at the crack of dawn."

"He's down in the training room, as usual. Have you two gotten over your little spat?"

"No. He's ignoring me and I was going to apologise but then I decided not to."

"Still angry?"

"How'd you guess?"

Achilles sighs and sits down, "You can't stay angry at him forever."

"Watch me," I said dryly, "I deserve a little more respect. He's so ignorant and he never listens-"

"As interesting as your love life is, we have a new lead."

"New lead for what?"

"What do you think, Sydney? Would you care to get Connor to come out of his hiding spot? There's someone you both have to meet."

A groan escapes my mouth and I glance back up at him, "Can I at least finish my coffee?"

"No. It won't take long, just go."

With another groan, I leave my coffee behind and head to the training room. Connor stands before the portraits of our enemies, the portraits of Pitcarn and Johnson crossed out with white crosses. My eyes drift to the portrait of my father, a cold shiver running down my spine as I do.

Pushing away my unreasonable fear, I walk up to Connor, crossing my arms as I stand beside him.

"Stop staring absentmindedly," I scolded him, "It's not helping anyone and it's annoying me."

"Recovered from your hangover yet?" Connor asked, ignoring my comment.

"Uh no. I thought my bad mood was enough to tell you that."

"You are always in a bad mood around me."

"No, I'm just mad at you. End of story. Come on. Achilles wants to show us something or more, introduce us to someone."

"Who is it?"

"I have absolutely no idea. Come on, stop hiding away like this."

I turn to leave, only managing to get two steps before Connor snatching my wrist and pulling me to him. I gasp, squirming under his grip.

"Connor, let go," I hissed, resisting the urge to let him hold me and tell em everything will be alright, "Connor, stop it!"

"Sydney, why-"

"I don't want to talk about _anything _to do with us right now, so just _back off!" _

Pulling myself out of Connor's grasp, I storm away, the sound of my steps echoing through the training room as I thunder up the stairs. I hardly notice Connor following me. Instead of grabbing my wrist, Connor throws me over his shoulder, leaving me screaming and laughing at the same time.

"Connor!" I exclaimed, beating on his back, "Put me down! This isn't funny!"

"Judging by your laughing, I assumed it is," Connor said calmly as he headed toward the dining room.

"Oh don't be fooled, I'm actually rather angry. Now, put me down, you bastard before I skin you alive!"

"Connor, put Sydney down," I hear Achilles sigh, just as Connor lets me slide to the ground.

As soon as my feet hit the floor, I pound Connor with punches and slaps to the shoulder, making him flinch slightly. I only notice we have a guest until I'm done with my petty revenge.

The man stares at me with both shock and curiosity, his gaze causing me to blush in embarrassment.

"Connor, Sydney, this is Benjamin Tallmadge," Achilles explained, "His father was one of us, no need for secrecy. I think he has something he wants to say."

"Achilles tells me you've uncovered a plot to murder the Commander-in-Chief," Benjamin said, his conversational tone spiked with secrecy.

"Yes but we only have false starts and dead ends to show for it," Connor said.

"Not anymore my friend," Benjamin walks toward us and puts an arm around Connor, "Thomas Hickey's your man and I intend to help you catch him."

"Oh God," I groaned, "I _hate _Hickey. He's a pain in the ass, both to track, talk to and even look at."

"How do you propose we catch him?" Connor asked, ignoring me as usual.

"I'll explain on the way. _We _are going to New York."

* * *

**Hey guys, sorry I've been really slow on use update. One of my best friends is possibly moving away and my friends and I have all been panicking for about a week. I managed to get this done, only barely. I should be back to normal, that is if my teachers decide to back off and stop giving me all these damn assignments but yeah, it's all good. Please R&R. I don't know this chapter is crap or not, I haven't really read over it but I hope it's alright. I might make the next chapter a little longer than normal if it is. Just tell me and I apologise if it's bad. Thanks for the support on the story. Stick with me, I will finish this story, I promise.**


	13. Chapter 12: Dead Inside

Chapter 12:

Dead Inside

* * *

"It is just me or does every city in this country look the same?"

Connor rolls his eyes at me as I stare around the streets of New York, turning my nose up at the place. It was true: the city was almost exactly the same as Boston, except it seemed a little bigger, more spread out. Nothing could compare to Paris, nothing at all. I've always had a certain love for the city that would never disappear, a love that I always shared with my mother. It was home to us, the one place where we could be ourselves. I'm not sure that good old King Louis is running the country as well as he should but that never seemed to bother me. Politics and I never mix.

The streets seem to become more dangerous as we walk, the people looking more and more suspicious by the second. I yawn, my early morning start not exactly helping my focus levels.

"You judge everything you see," Connor mumbled, probably expecting me not to hear him.

"I do not," I snapped, "It just doesn't have...charm or grace. It's just a city. Soulless, I guess."

"You should stop judging so harshly."

"You'd judge it too if you'd seen Paris. The Palace of Versailles is magnificent. Almost everything is coated in gold."

"Greedy, power-hungry-"

"Insult King Louis all you want but he knows how to make a palace. I wish he took the same care and dedication with the country."

Another sigh passes Connor's lips and I roll my eyes, turning my attention to Benjamin, who has remained eerily silent. Absent-mindedly, I scratch at my wrists, the hidden blades making that uncomfortable itch as usual.

"Anything wrong?" Benjamin asked, watching my odd behaviour with interest.

"Nothing. Just stupid blades," I grumbled, "So how are we meant to find Hickey?"

"There has been rumours of bad bills being circulated here. I suggest we start here."

"It's a start but it'll take time to find him. Not that I don't enjoy a challenge."

"You do not have enough patience for challenges," Connor said absent-mindedly, his eyes wandering all over the place.

I follow his gaze, which now rests on a man who looks far more suspicious than most. He's trying to give a merchant what's obviously counterfeited notes, only to have the flimsy paper notes thrown back into his face. He backs away and disappears into the shadows, where Connor and I are most likely to follow.

Connor taking the lead, we make haste, tailing the man with ease. The man's too stupid to realise he's being followed and I even give him a wink, just for fun.

"Stop," Connor growled, tugging me behind cover, "You'll give us away."

"Oh come on, Connor," I giggled, "He's far too stupid to know he's being followed and besides, he probably thinks I'm just some common whore but with a little more flair and charm."

"Sydney-"

"Oh Corporal, you worry too much. Come on, we'll lose him!"_  
_

Moving out of Connor's reach, I continue the chase. After a lot of moving around, hiding in the crowds and eavesdropping on Hickey's men, when reach our goal. I lean against the doorframe, smiling my winner, charmer smile. Connor backs up, pausing to give me a curious look.

"Care to knock, _cherie?"_

Taking a running start, Connor barges in the door. We enter, my winner smile still stretched across my face. Thomas Hickey looks at us with a dumbfounded look, along with the rest of his gang.

"Thomas Hickey?" Connor said, giving me the perfect excuse to roll my eyes.

"Yeah. Wot's it to yah?" Hickey asked, his cockney accent making my brain cells commit suicide, one by one.

"Hm," I said, my sarcastic persona going up, "Do you know how to speak proper English or are you just some common dumb thug?"

The familiar click of our hidden blades is heard as Connor and I prepare to fight. My muscles tense as Hickey gives us a second glance.

"Huh, ain't meant to be any of your kind left. S'pose I best be rectifying that. Get 'em!"

Pushing his gang mates aside and grabbing the profit, Hickey makes a run for it. I dart past the gang members with grace and run after Hickey, leaving Connor behind to fight the men. Instantly, I run into the Patriots, who have cornered Hickey as well. One grabs ahold of me just as Connor bursts through the window, distracting the soldiers enough for me to shake them off without hurting them too bad. Connor's already after Hickey and I begin to chase after them but I'm quickly pulled into a headlock. A familiar, yet paralysing voice fills my ears.

"Hello, Sid," Michael whispered, "Missed me, gorgeous?"

"No...no," I whimpered, the feeling of cold metal against my throat causing me to tense up even more, "Michael, please-"

"Please what? Please don't give me an excuse to kill you where you stand? Or maybe I should take you to the nearest inn and finish what your dear old Mama always seemed to interrupt?"

Another whimper escapes my mouth and I feel like I could faint. Bad memories slip into my head and I start to think of the worst scenario's. Michael drags me back into the shadows, his hands beginning to wander around my thankfully clothed body. It doesn't make it feel any better and I soon begin to squirm under his iron grip.

"Lucky for you, dear Sydney," He whispered, "Your father wants to see you, along with the Grand Master, Haytham. I could understand your father but I have no idea why Haytham wants to see you. Maybe it's about that native boy I always see you with. You screwing him? Probably are, knowing how you like broken things."

"Fuck you!" I growled, earning some courage.

"Language, Sydney. I've had enough of this. Maybe your father will be able to talk some sense into you."

* * *

"Sydney, my girl...such a troublesome girl you are."

Nothing but pure hatred fills me as I stare at my father, his slick black hair pulled back to reveal his piercing blue eyes. His sadistic smile and casual manner somehow make my fury even worse, my constant struggling at my restraints making my wrists red and bleeding.

Haytham Kenway sits beside my father, his eyes looking my up and down, taking in my appearance. Looking at him now, I can see the similarities between Connor and him. They have the same hard stare and stubborn jaw set, frown lines in the same places. It somehow disgusts me, the similarities. How could Connor and Haytham look so alike and yet be so different? It's sickening, much like how I have the same smile and sarcastic attitude as my father.

"It was quite a good plan, sending you off to the old Assassin to become my enemy. Always was smart, Celeste," Papa said, ignoring my look of hatred, "You didn't exactly put up a fight when Michael brought you in, girl-"

"I'm not a girl anymore," I snapped, "And you can't keep me here. I'll get out, just like I did before."

"I wouldn't count on it, Sydney. You may be a smart young woman but you could never outsmart a man."

"You obviously haven't taken a good look at the French whores you take to bed as a substitute for Mama. They outsmart you every day, making you pay double the money for double the fun. Men always keep their weapons in plain sight, women keep theirs close to their chest."

"And what might those weapons be?"

"Smarts, charm, etcetera, etcetera. But it just so happens that the best weapon's between a woman's legs. Hickey should really be careful how many girls he takes to his bed. I know a little more than I'd like to about him."

"Recuriting whores now?"

"No. Pay them enough and they'll do anything."

Papa chuckles, fidgeting with my locket which he took from me. I pay very little attention, my fingers working to unlock my shackles with the lock picks they didn't take off me. All my weapons are sitting on a table to the side, my hidden blades included. The window behind the table gives me a perfect escape route, although it'll hurt barging through that window. Not that it matters. Any ounce of pain is worth receiving in exchange for an escape from this place.

"We thought your kind dead and gone," Haytham said, "No longer a threat."

"Well, look how wrong you were?" I chuckled, only to receive a backhanded slap to the cheek.

Michael steps back, a red mark left where he hit me. I hardly even flinch, simply returning to staring at Papa.

"What do you want?" I growled, "If you're going to kill me, best get it over with. I'm not a patient person."

"That I know," Papa said calmly, "So much like Celeste. Speaking of my lovely wife, why don't you come here dear?"

The blood in my veins turns to ice as I watch my mother step out of the shadows, her face pale and bruised. She looks tired and broken but still beautiful. Her chocolate brown hair falls in waves over her shoulders, small streaks of gray appearing in the waves. She stares at me with watery eyes and I can see her stopping herself from running to me. She knows that'll only get her punished and in turn will cause me pain.

"Mama," I gasped, switching from English to French, "I'm so sorry."

"It's alright, dear," She replied in the same French dialect, "I got you out once. I shall do it again."

"I won't leave you!"

"You must. Calm down, child. You'll make your father and Haytham suspicious."

Trying hard to calm my breathing, I close my eyes, blindly fiddling with the lock pick. I can feel that I'm getting close but if I rush it, Michael will notice and I'll blow my whole plan. Opening my eyes, I suck in another sharp breath, becoming suddenly aware of the salty tears pricking my eyes.

"Don't bring her into this," I whimpered, trying hard to make myself look weak, "She has nothing to do with this-"

"She sent you away," Papa roared, his loud response making me jump, "She deserves every ounce of pain she receives. She betrayed me. She betrayed the Order. She betrayed _you, _Sydney."

As I get closer to unlocking the shackles, I snap back a bitter response.

"She never betrayed me! She did me a favour, a favour that I will repay with your head on a spike. You were the one who betrayed me, Father, when you dragged me into your life of death, destruction and war. You were the one who betrayed me when you and Haytham branded my neck and sufficiently scarred me for life, both mentally and physically! You have no right to call me your daughter. You have no right to give or receive love. All you deserve is death and pain, just like you always have! I may have happy memories of you and I together but they have been drowned in the river of bad memories that seem to cloud every thought in my mind! You ruined me, Papa! And I will hate you until my last breath for that."

Just as I finish the sentence, the lock to my shackles snaps open and I burst out of my seat, using the shackles as a weapon and swinging them hard into Michael's face. I lunge for my weapons, only just managing to grab ahold of one of my daggers before Michael pins me to the desk. I throw my head back and headbutt him, dazing him enough to shove him off. I swing around and slash his chest with my dagger, cutting the fabric of his shirt and creating a deep gash across his chest. Blood covers my blade and drips down onto my white knuckles but I hardly notice as I drive the dagger forward to finish the job. It hits it's target, my blade sinking into Michael's chest like a hot knife through butter. A feel a small twinge of sadness for the man before me, the man who I once would have married in a heart beat. I would have gone to the ends of the earth for him. When I was around him, everything seemed like a dream. But of course, in the end, I had to wake up.

Drawing my dagger back, I waste no time as I snatch my locket from my dazed father's hand, pick up the majority of my weapons and hurl myself through the thin glass window.

I have a momentary feeling of weightlessness before hitting the cold hard ground. I land on my side, so my hip and arm take the majority of the blow. It doesn't make it hurt any less. Scrambling painfully to my feet, I strap on my hidden blades and fasten the rest of my weapons in place before taking off in a sprint.

_Safe haven. That's what you need. A place to rest and plan. Safe haven..._

* * *

"You always manage to get yourself in the worst situations, don't you?"

I roll my eyes at Chelsea as she interrogates me, her constant nagging slowly becoming annoying. We've all been worried. _Very _worried.

Connor managed to get himself into prison and none of us have any way of getting him out. He's meant to be hanged today and Achilles and I have a plan that cannot fail. If it does, Connor dies, which in turn will make me die inside.

"Miss Sydney?"

At the mention of my name, I turn toward the sound of the woman's voice. Standing before me is an older woman, probably a couple of years older than me, wearing hunting gear. She's a smaller woman, although she has reasonably broad shoulders and strong arms. She has short brown hair which is pulled back into a ponytail, unlike mine which currently hangs free in tangled waves down my back.

"Um...yes?" I said, "I'm assuming you're Myriam?"

"Yes, I am," The woman agreed, holding out her hand "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"I'm hardly pleasant," I mumbled, shaking her hand and biting my tongue as the last of my sarcastic attitude drifts away, "Sorry. I'm...kind of on edge. Did Achilles send you?"

"Yes. He said he wanted to check up on you before we get going. Are you alright?"

"No. But that won't stop me from helping Connor."

"You're his apprentice, aren't you? He's spoken of you before. Quite a lot, actually."

I blush slightly but quickly regain myself. Waving Chelsea a small goodbye, I leave with Myriam, my fingers anxiously tugging at my sleeves.

"So why haven't I seen you around the homestead?" I asked, hoping to strike up a conversation to distract me from my anxiety.

"You've always been away when I'm around," Myriam replied, "That girl back there, is she one of your friends?"

"Yes, that's Chelsea. I've been spending quite a lot of time with her. She's just recently been married and I'm sure she just wants to rub it in my face, not that I care."

"Not the marrying type are you?"

"No. Sounds like far too much work."

"I agree. I'm no bloody house wife. I prefer to hunt, not cook and clean."

"I'm not really a hunter. I paint and draw and look after my little sister, who always, _always, _gets herself into trouble. Have you met her? Lucy?"

"Oh yes, little Lucy. Bright young girl, she is. She came hunting with Connor and I one time. She's quite good actually. She took on a wolf, all by herself."

"Ugh, I'm going to kill her for that. I hate it when she runs off. It's a pain in the ass trying to keep her in line."

"She's a good girl. Much like her sister."

"I wasn't _that _rebellious as a child. Sure, I got in trouble but not as much as her. Oh God, now I can feel my mother's thoughts seeping into my head. This is not good."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh sorry. I ramble sometimes. I was just think that I was turning into my mother."

"How?"

"I'm worried about Connor. Extremely worried. It's not natural for me. It doesn't feel right."

"Don't worry. Connor won't die today, not if we have something to say about it."

"I know, I know but...I keep thinking of the worst scenarios. I just...God, I shouldn't be bothering you with this."

"No, it's alright. You...do you love him? And I don't mean in a brother-sister way. I mean couple way."

"I...I really have no idea. I keep thinking I do but...then this little voice keeps reminding me of what Mama always taught me."

"Which was?"

"Trust no one. It's just safer that way. Oh God, I am so messed up."

"Well, you're not better than me. Here we are. Best take your position."

Arriving at the sight of the execution, Myriam and I split up. I climb to the rooftops, my job being to watch out for any guards and execute them if necessary. I'm a little slower at climbing than Connor, mainly because I'm a little less stronger but once I'm on the rooftops I run across them with ease. I encounter hardly any guards on my run and I reach a vantage point within a matter of minutes.

I crouch on the rooftop, my hood pulled low and my hair hanging out of the sides. I couldn't be bothered to put it up so I leave it out. The crowd below begins to get louder and through the throng of people, I can see the battered and beaten Connor being escorted through the crowds.

The sight of him tugs at my heart strings and I have a sudden hatred for the people below, throwing things at him and cursing him for something he never did. Connor hardly looks phased, although he is bloodied and I can see bruises on his face and arms even from up here. It sickens me, the treatment prisoners get. They're criminals, of course but they are still human beings. They are not cattle.

I watch as a woman steps forward and punches Connor in the jaw, the force of the punch knocking Connor to the ground. I growl instinctively, the urge to kill the woman where she stands growing inside me. I watch as Achilles pushes the woman and kneels beside Connor, Lucy by his side. They talk, very briefly, before Connor is hauled to his feet and pushed forward. He is led up to the gallows, where Charles Lee awaits him.

Lee rambles on, making himself look innocent and Connor guilty. He says he wants to bring Connor to justice, which is a little more than ironic as it is Charles who deserves to be put to justice. It is Charles who deserves to be the one who has a rope around his neck and is hung till death.

The noose is pulled over Connor's head and I feel my heart beat quicken. _This better work, this better goddamn work. _Everything else seems to happen in slow motion. In an instant, Connor is hung and what I think is a knife, zooms through the air and slices the rope hanging Connor by his neck. I sigh in relief but then, chaos erupts.

People begin running, in no particular direction at all and then the guards arrive. I can only just see Connor, darting past people with his tomahawk in hand, chasing after Hickey, who I can see clear as day. I run across the rooftop, following them from above.

Out of nowhere, a redcoat pounces on me, knocking my centre of gravity and sending me toppling over. I roll down the tiled roof and fall off the edge, hardly even having a chance to grab onto the ledge. I hit the ground hard and I cry out, groaning as I roll onto my back. I drag myself to my feet, pain shooting up and down my side.

I feel small hands on my arm, helping me up and I turn my head to see Lucy, wild-eyed and panicked.

"Go," She exclaimed, "Get to Connor. If the Patriots get to him-"

"I know, Lucy," I snapped, "Give me a second to collect myself. I did just fall off a roof, you know?"

"Hurry up!"

Rolling my eyes, I set off, shoving people out of the way as I run to Connor. He's talking to Putnam as I approach, finishing up the conversation just as I reach them. Connor turns and basically crashes into me, almost knocking me over.

"Sydney!" He gasped, "Sorry, I-"

"Sorry for almost knocking me over or sorry for getting yourself into jail and making me worry like hell? Either way, you're an asshole," I said sarcastically, pulling my hood down.

Connor's gaze turns from shocked to concerned, as he grazes a finger along my cheekbone. _Oh shit, my bruise. _I jerk back, my hand going to the bruise.

"Who did that to you?" Connor asked, his voice full of genuine concern.

"Not important," I answered, "We need to get you stitched up. You're more injured than me."

"Sydney, what happened?"

"I'll...I'll tell you when we get back to the homestead. I have a feeling you're going to shower me in questions when I tell you."

Connor nods, beginning to walk away again but I put my hand out and catch his wrist.

"Hey..." I whispered, stepping a little closer, "I...I missed you...when you were gone. Don't...Don't do that again. Always make sure I'm with you when you do these things. You can't do everything on your own and...I don't want to lose you, alright?"

Connor looks stunned for a moment but then pulls me closer, wrapping my arms around his torso and letting me rest my head on his chest. I can faintly smell the blood on his shirt but it doesn't particularly bother me. All I really care about is that I'm in his arms and not still trapped with my monster of a father. Without thinking, I lift my head and press my lips to Connor's. His eyes widen slightly but then he closes them, melting into the kiss. I smile against his lips, the overwhelming feeling of happiness washing over my mind in a misty haze.

At this point, nothing matters. Not my father nor the Templar plots. It's just he and I, together, like we should be.

* * *

"Sydney!"

Alise and Chelsea almost trip over their skirts as they run to the porch, the sun sinking into the horizon behind them. I frown, setting my paintbrush down on the edge of the easel and approaching them. Blue, red and yellow paint covers my hands and forearms, as well as my dress. I had been trying to capture the sunset like Mama always had and it was relaxing. Connor, who was watching me paint whilst we talked, stands and puts a hand to my back, looking at my friends with equal confusion.

"You have to come to the city, _now!" _Alise panted, the urgency still showing in her voice.

"Why? What's happened?" I asked, stepping down to them, "If you give me a chance to change-"

"Sydney, it's your mother!" Chelsea exclaimed, grabbing me by the shoulders, "Charles Lee has brought her to the gallows. He's going to execute her in front of a crowd! We have to go _now!" _

All I can do is stand there in shock. My mind screams at me to move but I just can't do anything. Mama is going to die. I thought I was prepared for this. I thought this news wouldn't kill me. But it has and it hurts like hell.

"I...I..." I muttered, somehow snapping back into myself.

I shove my friends out of the way and start running, finding the nearest horse and hauling myself up onto it's back. I can hardly even hear Connor, Chelsea and Alise yelling at me to slow down. I'm gone before they can stop me.

I reach Boston in a shorter amount of time than I imagined. I slide off my horse and begin running through the crowds, following the sound of bloodthirsty yelling. As I make my way through the crowd, I eventually see her, held by her hair by Charles Lee.

I can see my father off in the corner, red eyes and tear tracks running down his cheeks. I hardly stop to wonder why hems so upset. All I care about is my mother and my mother alone at this point.

Shoving people out of the way, I make my way to the stairs, "Mama!"

I feel someone grab my arm and yank me back, although I fight whoever it is. I cry out, swearing loudly and tears beginning to slide down my cheeks. I realise it's Connor, as he pulls me to him and holds me hard against him. I struggle, sobbing and grunting at the same time.

"Let me go!" I cried, "I have to save her, I have to-"

"Sydney, calm down," Connor said reassuringly, "We need to get out of here."

"No! I have to save her. She can't die like this! She can't, she can't..."

"Get her out of here," A familiar voice said and I realise it was my father's voice, "She doesn't need to see this."

"You were responsible for her!" I cried, "She's your wife, you bastard! Do you hate her this much-"

Papa snatches my hair and pulls my head back, making me look at him. Up close I can see the fury and sadness in his blue eyes, the pale, washed out look to his face.

"I love your mother, whether you think it or not," He growled, "I did not decide to do this. I never wanted to kill her. I wanted to keep her safe. But the Order said she had to die and I can't refuse them. But I will not let you see your mother die this way. I am civilised enough to know that this is far too much for you to bare. Assassin, get her out of here before I do it myself."

Letting go of my hair, I take my opportunity and begin to struggle again, trying to push Connor away with my, honestly, lacking strength. Connor sweeps my feet out from under me, one arm under my knees and the other supporting my back. I give in, wrapping my arms around Connor's neck and crying into his shoulder. I feel so dead inside, like the happiness I had before was never there. This somehow makes me cry harder and I cling to Connor for dear life. He shushes me, holding me close and whispering reassuring words in my ear. I hardly hear them over the sound of my sobs.

I lift my head from Connor's shoulder and glance one final time at my mother at the gallows, just as Charles Lee puts a bullet in her beautiful, flawless head.

* * *

**Hey guys, I made this chapter a little bit longer. It took a tiny bit longer than usual to write, plus I was sort of fangirling over the Mortal Instruments movie for about a day but I hope you all enjoyed it, just R&R to tell me how it is. This is a bit of a short A.N, I'm just tired and dying to go to bed but yeah, read, review, do whatever.**


	14. Chapter 13: Monster

Chapter 13:

Monster

* * *

"Mama...no...NO!"

I snap out of my nightmare, my heart pounding in my chest and my body covered in sweat. I suck in bitter air and almost choke on my incoming tears. This is the third night in a row I've been woken by nightmares of my mother. Three nights of tossing, turning, choking back tears and keeping Connor away. I can't help but hide. It's always been a defence mechanism in my mind. Whenever I'm upset, I hide away where no one can see me. It's what Mama taught me after all: trust no one, it's safer that way. Sunlight hits my face with an invisible force, making me sweat even more.

All of a sudden, I feel numb. I lose all feeling in my limbs and I just lay there, shivering and sobbing silently. Something in my mind snaps. _You caused this. You were the reason she died. It's all your fault. All your fault. You're a monster, just like your father._

"Monster..." I whispered, sitting up and drawing the covers back.

I hear someone pound on my door and start yelling at me to unlock it but I block it out, walking over to the shelf that my weapons are placed on. _You are a monster. You deserve to die, just like your father, just like Michael. Do you think Connor will love you after what you did? Do you honestly think he could love a monster like you?_

I grab ahold of one of my small throwing knives, a tiny thing with a razor sharp blade. Sinking to the floor, I drag one of my sleeves up my arm and expose my forearm. _Come on, you know what to do. Just carve the words into your skin. It'll take the pain away. It won't make you any less of a monster but it'll do everyone else a lot of good. You know the word. You know what to do. M. O. N. S. T. E. R. _

Blood seeps out of the deep cuts along my forearm, the gruesome word etched into my skin. I feel like I should be in tears from the pain but it somehow comforts me and makes me feel less guilty. I barely hear Connor as he smashes my lock and enters my room.

As he puts an arm around my shoulders and gently takes my bleeding arm, I snap back to reality. I try to shake him off, more tears sliding down my cheeks.

"Leave me be!" I screamed, "I don't deserve you! I don't deserve anything-"

"Sydney, be quiet," Connor snapped, scooping me up and carrying me out of the room, "Achilles! Get Dr White."

Achilles emerges from his room, looking slightly confused. Then he sees the blood on my arm and the tears streaming down my face. He leaves swiftly, leaving the front door open as he does. I limply fight against Connor, sobbing into his chest at the same time. For the first time, I fully feel the pain of my injuries. It's like I was in a trance and I couldn't snap back. Like I had to kill myself and that was all I knew.

Connor gently sets me down on the sofa and extends my limp arm, blood dripping off my arm and onto the hardwood floor. Glancing down at my injured arm, the gruesome word sticks out in crimson red, haunting me with memories of my past.

_You're too weak to kill yourself. You deserve your miserable life. You deserve the scars you wear. You deserve the cuts along your arm. You deserve to suffer as your mother, your fiancé and your friends have._

I hear the thudding of footsteps against the floor and three figures come into my view, one instantly kneeling down to look at my injured arm. Dr White, I assume or 'The White Death', as the town criers call him. I hardly know the man, much like I hardly know anyone on the homestead. The only people I know personally are Ellen and her daughter Maria, as I have lent Ellen my sketch books on occasion and she has given me silk and materials in return. Maria and Lucy are friends as well and I have introduced Ellen to Sofia and Elena. She's been working with them for weeks, extending their stay. Not that I've complained. I liked having friends over.

As my eyes go into focus, I realise it's Myriam, the woman who I was talking with at Connor's execution. She gasps as she sees the evidence of my self-harm, shaking her head.

"These are very deep cuts," Dr White said, applying a liquid to my cuts that stings on contact, "She won't need stitches but she'll have scars."

"She did it to herself," Connor said grimly, "Why?"

"You should ask her that," Achilles answered.

I keep my mouth shut, staring at one spot on the wall and nothing else. As Dr White applies more antiseptic, I hiss , beginning to jerk my arm back but unfortunately, Connor has a firm grip on my arm and so does Dr White. I begin to squirm under the pressure, whining and swearing. Myriam pins me to the sofa, which is probably why she was here in the first place. I continue to fight against them until Dr White is done, a thick white bandage wrapped tightly around my forearm, concealing the terrible thing below.

As soon as everyone's grip on me loosens, I take the opportunity. I shove Myriam away and jerk my arm back, vaulting over the sofa and bolting for the door. I can hear the others yelling at me to stop but I don't listen, sprinting for the woods. I just need to get away, away from Connor, Achilles and everyone. I just need to be alone.

"Leave me alone!" I screamed, stopping at a tree and hiding behind it, "I want to be alone!"

"Sydney, stop hiding and tell us what's wrong!" I hear who I'm guessing is Ellen, judging by the posh British accent.

"Please, just leave am alone!" I yelled back, sinking down to the ground and hugging my legs, "Please...please..."

I'm guessing Connor got the whole homestead to look for me, judging by how many people go by me without looking back. Most of them are spread out but others are closer and I consider climbing the tree but then discard the thought, realising that it'll take too much effort, effort that I don't seem to have. It's a woman that finds me, a African-American with her hair wrapped in a strange cloth on her head. She's gentle with me, kneeling beside me and putting a hand on my shoulder.

"Are you alright?" She asked, her accent sounding slightly French, "Are you hurt?"

Shifting my hair out of my eyes, I shake my head, exhaustion from running and crying finally setting in.

"Is everyone out here?" I asked, my voice sounding croaky and broken.

"Mostly. Ellen, Maria and Achilles are back at the Homestead, just in case you might return."

"Oh God, Connor. I'm sorry. You didn't need to. I was, well _am, _upset and I just needed room to breath. Connor means well but...I didn't want to answer the question he was going to ask."

"Was he going to ask you about this?"

The woman points to my bandaged arm and I nod, dreading having to go back and explain why I ran away.

"I'm such a brat," I whimpered, "I'm sorry, I really am."

"Do not be sorry. Just come with me."

* * *

"God, I feel like a complete and utter idiot! Connor sent the whole damn homestead out looking for me, just because I ran away like a spoiled child."

Ellen sighs, shaking her head as she sits down beside me, "At least he cares for you."

"I wish he didn't," I grumbled, leaning back into my chair, "I'm far too much trouble."

"You undervalue yourself, dear. And besides, Connor hardly ever opens up to anyone but you. He trusts you."

"He shouldn't. It's not safe, trusting so many people."

"How do you know?"

"It's what I've _always _known. It's not something I can change. I'm not a trusting person, you know that Ellen."

"Trusting you aren't, Sydney but you have to learn to give a little more respect. And love and almost everything else. Cutting yourself is not the answer nor is ignoring the man you love."

"How do you know I love him? I don't even know if I love him, I just assume so which is probably wrong because I have terrible judgment-"

"Sydney, you're rambling," Sofia interrupted me as she entered the room, carrying three full bolts of fine blue silk with her, "These should suffice, Ellen. Took me three hours to find the things but I got them anyway. My designs are on your desk, by the way."

Ellen smiles, standing from her chair and taking the bolts from Sofia, "Thank you, Sofia. I really do appreciate the help, especially from someone who knows what's they're doing."

"There's no problem," Sofia replied, brushing a pale white lock of hair behind her ear, "Elena and I enjoy it. Besides, it's better working here than in Paris. The standards in that city have fallen quite dramatically in the past year. It's heartbreaking, really."

"Louis not running the country as he should?" I asked, looking down at my open sketch book on balanced on my lap and beginning to colour the sketch I had roughly draw half an hour before.

"He's _not _running the country. That's the point. At this rate, we'll have a revolution just like we have here. Except it'll be more bloody and brutal."

"Why?" Ellen asked, giving Sofia a curious look.

"The French have a rather brutal fighting style," I answered, mixing a colour with my finger, "It's pretty to look at but not if you're receiving the blows."

"Exactly," Sofia sighed, sitting down in Ellen's chair beside me, "Where's Maria? I thought she'd be home by now."

"She's out riding with Lucy," I said, "They won't be back for another hour at least. Lucy'll be covered in cuts and bruises as usual and I'll be left with the job of disciplining her. _Yet again." _

"What? Is Connor not the disciplining type?"

"Not when it comes to Lucy. He has a soft spot for her. So does Achilles. I'm the only one who actually punishes her when she does something wrong. It's infuriating."

"I think you're just infuriated by Connor."

"Well, that too. Why does everything have to relate back to him?"

"He's the centre of attention. Both in the Revolution and here at the homestead. And apparently also in your head."

"Oh shut your mouth! I can think about him if I want."

"Of course, of course but..._how _exactly do you think about him? And also _where _do you think about him? I could just imagine-OW!"

A blotch of ink stains her dress from the pen I threw at her, an appalled look on Sofia's face as she examines the stain.

"You deserve it," I snapped, slamming my sketch book shut and throwing it to the side.

"I most certainly did not!" Sofia exclaimed, throwing the pen back at me, which I dodge with ease, "This is expensive material!"

"I'm sure it is, since you never make cheap things. Is there anywhere to get a drink around here? I feel like getting blind drunk but Connor hid my last bottle of wine. Not that I care much for wine, it's just the alcohol I'd like right now."

"The inn could do that for you," Sofia replied, standing and holding out her arm for me, "I'm in the mood for a drink."

I smile and stand, linking my arm with hers and leaving Ellen to her work. The brisk afternoon air rushes past, causing my free hair to flap in the wind like a flag of chocolate brown and dirty blonde. My teeth begin to chitter and I pull my shawl tighter around my shoulders. Sofia chuckles, the few free strands of her almost white hair beginning to blow violently around her face as she does.

"You should have worn a warmer dress, _cherié. _Winter is coming and it's getting far too cold not to," Sofia warned, guiding us through the village as she knows her way around better than even I do.

"It was warm when I left the estate," I complained, "The weather around here could be drawn out of a hat and still be right. It's so strange."

"That's true. Elena and I like it though. It's peaceful here, not chaotic like Paris. Nor is it as disease ridden. You should see the city, Sydney. It has lost it's beauty. It's a sad place now, such a sad place. Elena and I are well off, since we come from weather families and we make enough money for five families of twelve but the people out on the street...they suffer. If His Majesty doesn't get his act together, he'll soon have a revolution on his hands."

"Maybe he deserves it. I'm not like Connor; I don't think _all _should be free but I think the majority of people should be. People don't deserve the treatment they're getting her nor in France. Maybe a revolution would solve their problems."

"How could killing thousands of men and women for war solve problems? I'm a pacifist, Sydney, I despise violence of any kind. I don't particularly like what you do but I know it's what you have to do, I can bare with that. But...my own people? I expect better from them. I will not see my people suffer as the people of this land have."

"They suffer for a greater cause. They fight to be free, how is that not right? The British are not suitable for this land. There needs to be democracy. A fair vote. All that crap."

"Well, let's just agree to disagree. These people can have their Revolution but for now, France is untouched by such madness."

"What madness?"

The interruption of a new voice makes me jump, being so involved in the conversation, I had hardly noticed that someone had approached us. A man stands before us, more like a giant in my eyes, with a dark black beard and short black hair on his almost bald head. He's dressed in blacksmith's gear and is covered in soot and ash; the minor trademarks of a blacksmith.

"Various amounts," Sofia responded, "Dear Sydney, have you met David? Stupid question, of course you haven't."

"Hey!" I exclaimed, playfully punching her arm, "I don't walk around here much, remember? I'm either in Boston with Chelsea and Alise or I'm in the estate. Don't get snappy."

"I'm not snappy. Just stating a fact," Sofia said sweetly before turning back to David, "This is Sydney, lady of the manor."

I snort, swatting my hair out of my face, "I'm hardly a lady. I prefer to be fighting than drinking tea any day. By the way, this dress. Is it meant to completely rob me of breath?"

"Fashion is pain."

"So is war, but I like the first one better. Nice to meet you, David. I'm sorry I haven't met you sooner, I have a habit of coming and going quite abruptly. Blacksmith?"

"Yes. It's really the one thing I can do around here to repay a debt," David replied, "Call me Big Dave. David's too formal."

"Sorry. Force of habit. My best friend Alise's fiancé is named David and he hates being called anything else."

"Understandable. Are you looking for Connor?"

"Oh God no," Sofia interrupted, "For starters, he'd ruin _her _fun by dragging her away kicking and screaming which in turn would ruin my fun. Plus he doesn't drink. Sydney and I do."

"Quite heavily might I add," I chuckled, "Care to join us?"

"You're going to try and drink him under the table, aren't you?" Sofia exclaimed.

"Why not? Besides, I was going I to the inn anyway. What's this about a drinking game?"

Sofia groans, "Don't even try. Last time Sydney did that, the poor man ended up passing out on the tavern floor."

"It was his fault he drank the absinthe. What did I say?"

"'Don't let it touch your tongue, it'll knock you off your feet-"

"'In ten seconds flat.' I warned him. I'm just about the only person in the world who can drink the stuff."

We laugh as we walk into the inn, Big Dave in tow. Sofia sits us down at a table with Myriam and another man I know to be Norris, another one of the people who I hardly know around here.

Myriam smiles politely at me, nodding her head in recognition, "Finally decided to come see the peasants in the village?"

"More like 'dying for a decent drink'. Connor hid the last of my liquor."

"Sounds like something he'd do. Ale?"

"Not strong enough. Whiskey or rum will do me."

"Sydney is immune to being drunk," Sofia sighed, staring at her painted-black fingernails and picking at any hang-nails.

"I have an extremely high alcohol tolerance," I said dryly, "I'm not immune. Huh, I wish I was."

"Let's test that theory then shall we?" Myriam said, putting down a shot glass and pouring the golden coloured liquid into the glass.

"First one to throw up or first to pass out?"

"Oh God," Sofia groaned, "This isn't going to end well."

"The first one," Myriam replied, ignoring Sofia's comment, "Ready?"

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I reach for my glass, leaning forward and propping one elbow up on the table.

"Bottom's up."

* * *

Stars spark in front of my vision as I down my tenth shot of the round, the whiskey in my blood stream making my head pound with pain. Myriam was done by the fourth shot and Big Dave took her place as she quickly ran outside to throw up in the bushes. It's harder trying to out-drink both a soldier and blacksmith, especially when he's a little more sober than I but in my rather drunk state, I can't exactly say no to a challenge.

"Give in yet, little girl?" Big Dave chuckled, smiling wickedly as I rub my eyes, trying to make the stars disappear.

"Not on your life, old man," I snapped back, "Another."

"Sydney!"

Connor's voice pierces my ears, causing me to wince slightly in pain. I groan, dreading the lecture to come. Connor swiftly walks up beside me and scoops me out of my chair, without a word from me. I hardly complain, since my head is pounding from the alcohol and I'm far too intoxicated to care. I lean my head against his chest and moan lightly as I begin to fidget with his tribal necklace.

"You didn't need to do that," I said as Connor carries me out into the freezing evening air, "I would have found my way home without you."

"Why do you do these things?" Connor asked, getting straight to the point, "Why do you constantly put yourself at risk?"

"I've still got to do theswet things while I'm young. As you know, my pretty face won't last-"

"And if you continue on this path, you will have a pretty face when you die. I cannot lose you, Sydney. It would destroy me, why can you not see that?"

"Maybe I want to die young. Isn't it better to look pretty in your coffin rather than old and weak?"

"It is always better that way. You may lose your beauty over the years but to those who love you, you will always be beautiful."

"Yes, but to myself, I won't be. Don't you understand Connor? I'm broken. Don't be fooled by the attitude and the confidence. On the inside...I feel like one small nudge will cause me to crumble and die. The drinking, the fighting, even cutting myself...it distracted me from that fact. I don't know if that'll be enough anymore."

Connor stops mid-walk and sets me down onto my feet, his hood covering his eyes with a shadow. I hate when I can't see his eyes, because I can hardly ever tell what he's thinking. I'm suddenly quite aware of what he's thinking as he snakes an arm around my waist and pulls me to him, my hands resting up against his chest.

My heart begins to beat a little faster and I somewhat sober a little, being this close to him. I push back his hood, revealing the gentle face I've come to know and love. I can tell he has his mother's eyes; Haytham doesn't have the same fierce quality of in his eyes like Connor does, the determination of an Assassin. Staring down at me, the fierce quality seems to dull down a little and his gaze seems to become loving.

"What are you doing, Corporal?" I said, "If you're gonna make a move on me, you should have waited until we got back to the estate."

"Why must you always make a joke of serious things?" Connor chuckled, cupping my cheek lightly.

"I'm borderline drunk, Connor. I'm probably going to start giggling and laughing in a few minutes."

Connor chuckles softly, leaning down and kissing my neck playfully, causing me get laugh and tangle my fingers in his hair. Bliss and happiness cloud the alcoholic buzz in my mind and I revel in the feeling, more giggling escaping my mouth. I pull Connor up to eye-level and kiss him fiercely, letting out all my anger, frustration and sadness from the past three years of my life. Nothing else mattered anymore, nothing ever did matter when I'm with Connor.

As much as it pains me to admit, I trust him and I love him, in every way possible. Trust is not something that comes easily to me but he taught me to let my guard down, not without difficulty unfortunately. I fought against him and I was a child sometimes but now, I understand how stupid I was. How ignorant and stubborn I was. But of course, that was all I knew.

I moan into Connor's mouth, gasping as he lifts me up and leans me up against a tree for support. A small flutter of excitement appears in the pit of my stomach and for a second, I freeze in fear, terrified of what's to come. Connor somehow senses my terror and pulls out of the kiss.

"I'm sorry," He muttered, letting me slide back down to the ground, "I did not mean-"

"No, no, it's alright," I said weakly, feeling slightly weak, "I guess I'm still a little anxious about...that. I guess I need a little more-"

"Time?"

"Well...yes. I'm just...not ready to give myself away like that yet."

"I understand. I would never hurt you, in any way-"

"I know...I know. I'm just...a bit of a child like that. Scared of a little pain..."

Embarrassed, I look down, afraid to meet Connor's eyes. I laugh nervously, stepping out of his arms and hugging my torso protectively. One little part of my old self clings to me like a disease and I somewhat hate that little part right now.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, "I promise I'll make it up to you but...I need time to think and...sober up, in a fashion. I'll come to you when I'm ready but right now...I need time alone."

With that, I turn and I do what I always do when things get difficult. _I run. _


	15. Chapter 14: Going Against Mama

**Bit of a warning here. Things get tiny bit steamy. Well a little more than steamy but you know, just warning ya.**

* * *

Chapter 14:

Going Against Mama

* * *

"Ugh, why am I such a little wimp?!"

I roll over and hide my face in my pillow, groaning loudly as Chelsea throws one of my drawing pencils at my head.

"Please stop complaining," Chelsea yelled, "I will keep throwing pencils at your head if you do."

"I might resort to those pins if she keeps going," Alise mumbled.

I sit up in bed, my tangled hair falling to one side. The cold has finally set in, the snow sticking to the ground and covering the ground with a thick white blanket of ice. Even with the cold, I feel like I'm suffocating in the heat of this room and the lacy lingerie I'm wearing underneath this dress is not helping me breathe. I've been tossing and turning all night about the things happening between Connor and I, every dream causing me to wake in a hot mess. Thinking about it now, I can feel my heart begin to race and excitement brew inside my core. It's infuriating, the fact that I can think about these things so easily and yet be too afraid to do it in real life.

"I...I really do not know what is wrong with me," I muttered, "It's not even that big a deal-"

"Oh for the love of God, Sydney, it _is _a big deal," Chelsea exclaimed, twirling another pencil around her fingers, "I speak from experience, it is a very big deal. You give up your soul when you do something like that. You give yourself to the person you're with. I know you say you love Connor but something like this...is a tad too far."

"I disagree," Alise said calmly, "It's not so bad. It's just sex after all. It's just plain fun, that's all. I don't see why you're making such a big deal over it."

"Does it...Does it hurt?" I asked timidly, looking over to Chelsea, "I mean-"

"Yes. On the first time, it does. But...it...fades quite quickly."

"Then what's it like?"

"Well..." Chelsea and Alise exchange cheeky glances and a small smirk appears on my face, "That is something you have to feel for yourself."

"Oh my God! Why do you two get to do all the fun things?!"

The room erupts into laughter, releasing all the tension of my little worries. I bite my lip, mulling over the choice ahead of me. It's been two days since I ran from Connor. Two days and we've hardly spoken. It's like every time I get close to him, I snap back to myself and run away in complete fear and distrust. It's a force of habit, something that was instilled in me over my whole childhood. _Trust no one, it's safer that way. _That's what I always said. That's what Mama always said. I never questioned that; how could I? All I ever knew was betrayal and misery, so why should I trust anyone? But now, I'm beginning to think that that little phrase has become a mental barrier in my head. Something stopping me from opening up and letting other in. Something that's stopping me from being able to love.

Muffled yelling echoes up to my room, the sound causing me to frown. _They're at it again. _Connor and Achilles have been fighting and arguing for so many weeks now but those fights were always short-lived and were over in a few seconds. The recent fights over the last few days have been extremely loud and extremely long, their arguments often having to be stopped by both Myriam and I. It still worries me, how angry they are becoming. I wish it would all stop and I've just given up on separating their fights.

"They're still arguing?" Chelsea asked, worry written all over her face.

"Unfortunately, yes," I said dryly, "It's getting worse and worse. I've just...given up now."

"I could understand. They sound rather angry, are you sure you don-"

"No. Let them argue. I won't stop them anymore. It's just too much effort, separating them and calming Connor down, all the while trying not to look into his eye. I told him I needed time alone and I'm getting it. I just...I don't know what to think anymore. I'm just so stressed all the time and I can never relax. Whether it's my love life, trouble with the Templars or the goddamn Revolution, I can't...I can't stop to think o-or to breathe. I-I'm going in over my head and-"

"You need time that you don't have."

Gasping for air, I look over to Chelsea, breathing heavily. I shake my head and run a hand through my tangled chocolate hair, another hand clawing at my front laces. Chelsea stands up and walks over to me, sitting beside me and putting a hand on my back. She calms me down, rubbing my back and cooing me to a calm state.

"We should go, Alise," Chelsea said, causing an appalled gaze from me, "You need time alone, sweetie. Time to think."

"I can't think," I gasped, "I can't think in this room. I can't think, I can't breathe, I mean...what am I meant to do?!"

Smiling gently, Chelsea stands and walks back over to my desk where she was sitting and picks up one of my sketch books and my small set of sketching pencils and drawing charcoal before walking back to me. She gently sets the book and pencils down, before reaching over and gently running her hand through my hair.

"Draw," She said, "It's what you've always done. Draw what you feel, draw what you worry...draw what you love. It'll be the calming thing you need to be able to think."

I hardly notice my friends leave as all I can focus on is the need to stop shaking enough actually pick up a pencil. I know Chelsea is right. Drawing has always been the thing that calms me, no matter what. But right now, I cannot seem to calm my shaking hands enough to be able to put pencil to paper. _Come on Sydney, focus. Breathe and focus. Draw how you feel and what you love. Focus...breathe...focus. _

Opening my sketch book, I take a deep breathe and pick up a pencil. I close my eyes, envisioning the sketch I want to draw and with a short breath, I begin to draw.

* * *

"Shit! How am I going to get all this damn charcoal off my fingers?!"

Scoffing at my fingers, I exit my room, thundering down the stairs and beginning to search for some water to clean the charcoal off my hands. I pass through the living room and in doing so, I literally crash into Connor. Connor snatches my wrist and steadies me, chuckling softly as I swear under my breath.

"Sorry," I mumbled, "In a bit of a rush."

"Have you been painting?" Connor asked, staring around my face and my hands.

"And sketching and...drawing and watercolour painting. What? Is there paint on my face?"

"In your hair, to be exact. Your hands-"

"Uh, it's um...drawing charcoal, uh...could I...talk to you after I get the black stuff off my fingers? Please?"

"Of course. I will wait for you-"

"Go up to my room, I'll meet you there. Is there seriously paint in my hair?"

Connor smiles cheekily and steps out of my way, heading off to my room. I scoff at him, running my hand through my hair just to be sure. A deep blue coats my hand as I do and I groan, racing to the kitchen and beginning to wash off then evidence of my artistic day. Unfortunately, my dress is covered in paint, water and pencil marks, which will most likely result in about half a day's worth of washing the damn thing.

Excitement bubbles under my skin as I think about Connor and what I plan to do. Spending six hours in your room, covered in paint and charcoal and almost buried under all my sketchbooks actually works quite well on the mind. I've been calm enough to think, to breathe. It's cleared my mind, just like Chelsea said it would. And the result of my thinking will be revealed tonight.

I quickly dry my hands and run back to my room, laughing silently as my excitement begins to mix with nerves and anxiety. The little voice in my head chastises me, telling me that my decision is a mistake and that I should stop. _Part of my former conditioning, I assume. _

Once I've reached my door, I freeze, my nerves making me freeze in a small fit of terror. My hands begin to shake and my heart hammers inside my ribcage but I force it all back, calming my breathing down and biting my lip until I taste blood in my mouth. I can't stop now. I want Connor. I want him so badly. But of course, my mental and emotional conditioning has stopped me from going forward and doing what I want. I can't hide anymore.

I'm sick of not being able to trust others. I'm sick of not being able to love the man I so desperately want to love and treasure. I'm sick of losing so many people I love. I'm sick of it all and I want to break free. I need to destroy the mental barrier in my head. _Trust no one; it's safer that way. _That one phrase has been both my saviour and my enemy all my life. Right now, I want it gone. Right now...it doesn't even exists in my head.

I push open my bedroom and enter, closing the door behind me and leaning up against it. Connor stands in the centre of the room, hood down with his back to me. He's so tall and broad, I hardly even make it up to his shoulder in height. At the sound of the door closing, Connor turns around, his eyes lighting up at the sight of me.

"Sydney..." He said, his eyes looking me up and down before finally settling on my face, "You said you wanted to talk. What has happened? Are you alright?"

"I'm alright," I replied, my hand raising to my chest and beginning to trace the neckline of my dress, "I'm actually...far more than alright."

"Then what is it you wanted to talk about?"

Biting my lip and taking a deep breath, I catch ahold of the laces of my dress and pull it free, the slightest feeling of expanding space around my torso. Not looking up to see Connor's expression, I tug at the laces a little, loosening it enough to be able to slip the sleeves of my dress down and let the dress drop to the ground, material pooling around my feet. My lacy corset and panties are the only clothing I have left on.

I sway my hips a little and look up at Connor, biting my lip nervously. Connor stares at me with lust filled eyes, his body tensing up and his breathing increasing. He somewhat flinches when I take a step forward but a few seconds later, he wraps his arms around my waist and crushes his lips into mine. I moan into his mouth, kissing him desperately and fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. When he grabs my wrists and pulls them away, I whine, pulling out of the kiss and pouting.

"What's wrong?" I asked, "Don't you want me?"

"You do not even know what you are doing," Connor replied, beginning to undress himself.

"Oh and you're such an expert?" I said sarcastically, crossing my arms over my chest.

"More of an expert than you."

"Who and when?"

"It was a long time ago, Sydney. I was younger than-"

"How old?"

Connor sighs, throwing his weapons and coat to the side. He steps forward and lifts me up, letting me wrap my legs around his waist. I kiss him lightly, still harbouring the fact that Connor isn't actually as inexperienced as I thought. He gently lays me down on my bed, still consumed in our kiss before crawling on top of me and letting his hands wander my painfully exposed body. I shiver as he slips his hands under my back and pulls the ribbon bow free, the strange feeling of loosening stabbing at my stomach once again. I pull out of the kiss, my nerves getting the better of me as I press Connor with more questions.

"_How old?" _I asked, more force in my voice this time.

"I was fifteen years old," Connor replied, if not reluctant to answer me at all, "Some of the girls in my village...and a few of my other friends, we-"

"Okay, stop, stop, stop. I don't want to know. You experimented and that's all I want to know. I have a question though."

"Ask away."

"How am I more of an experienced kisser than you? It's just not really logical-"

"I never kissed any of those girls. None of us did. We were just finding out who we were and that was it. Nothing more."

A small smile tugged at the corners of my mouth and I absent-mindedly trace Connor's jawline, "And then you met me..."

"And then I met you."

I smile as Connor brings his lips back down to mine, instantly capturing me in a kiss that no young child should see. The moisture between my legs increases as he fiddles with the back laces of my corset, although he's failing miserably. I giggle, flipping us over and sitting up, beginning to loosen the back of my corset.

"You may be able to undress yourself but you cannot undress me, my dear," I said, shaking slightly as I pull off the corset and throw it across the room.

Connor flips us over again, a gasp escaping my mouth as he does. Not once in my life have I been this bare in front of a man. Michael never made it this far, thank God but even when I'm here with Connor, I feel a twinge of fear as I remember the times Michael got close. I must have flinched because Connor somewhat relaxes and kisses my forehead reassuringly, a silent way of saying that everything will be alright.

"Konnorónhkwa, Sydney...Allison...Charlotte...Celeste...Abigail.. .Aubery-"

"You remembered?! Good Lord Connor, never again will I tell you that you never listen!"

"Good to hear. Sydney...are you sure that you are ready?"

I consider the question, biting my lip and staring blankly into Connor's fiery brown eyes. A twinge of fear creeps in, stabbing at my stomach yet again but I somehow push that fear away, nodding my head ever so slightly.

Connor doesn't miss a beat, reaching down and hooking his fingers around the waistband on my panties. I suck in a sharp breath as he slowly drags the lace underwear down my legs, leaving me completely and utterly bare. _Vulnerable, more like. _Once he's thrown my underwear into the dark shadows of my room, Connor slowly makes his way back up to my face, kissing my legs as he does. I shiver as he inches closer and closer to the my core, my hands clenching into fists and almost tearing the sheets from the teasing feeling. By the time Connor's back at eye-level, my heart is pounding inisde my chest and my breaths are short and ragged.

My skin burns, the heat radiating off my body like the sun on a hot day. I can feel some kind of tension in the pit of my stomach, it's small but it's already become unbareable. I want Connor so badly, I want him so badly that it hurts. And yet, he keeps going slowly, being ever so cautious not to hurt me or to make me feel uncomfortable. On the battlefield, he sees me as indestructible, a force to be receded with. But here, in bed, he treats me as if I am a porcelain doll, breakable and fragile.

As Connor slides off the bed to get fully undressed, I admire him silently while trying hard to catch my breath. The moonlight shines through the window and hits his back, illuminating his strong back muscles and the scars that lacerate his tanned skin. Each scar is either ragged and ugly or straight and clean, but all are marks of battle. I flex my fingers, itching to sketch the lines in his back and the scars that cover them. I smile, covering my face with my hands and laughing through my fingers.

The sensation of skin on skin sends a shiver up my spine as Connor climbs back on top of me, his arms wrapping gently around my torso and holding me as close as possible.

"What are you laughing about?" He asked as I uncovered my face and wrapped my arms around his neck.

"Oh nothing, just similarities," I replied, my hands shaking ever so slightly.

Connor smiles slightly, lightly kissing my lips as he untangles his arms and slides his hands down my sides and lightly grips my waist. I pull back, biting back a whimper as he gently splits my thighs apart and positions himself at my entrance. Every decent minded cell in my body seems to want this so badly but one part of me keeps telling me that this is wrong and nothing else. For a second, I consider believing it, stopping this now and hiding forever but I quickly dismiss the thought, calming myself down enough to force my lips against Connor's before he slowly enters me.

I knew there would be pain. I knew that my first time with a man would hurt but it would fade, turning into complete and utter bliss. And yet, it still surprised me with the pain. My inner walls stretched to their limits and I bite back a sob, digging my nails into Connor's back so hard I fear I've drawn blood. He doesn't seem to mind but he kisses me gently, lovingly, making sure that I don't feel too bad.

He's slow at first, making sure that the pain has fully gone away before everything starts to get a little more serious. I moan loudly, the once painful sensation becoming utterly pleasurable. I can hardly breathe from the pleasure and all my thoughts have turned to mush in my head, the only thing that I'm focused on being Connor and Connor alone.

My legs are wrapped tightly around his bare waist, my fingers tangled in his now loose hair. I have never felt anything like this before. It was intoxicating, the feeling, like a drug that I was unable to give up. And yet the tension in my womb seemed to build as Connor thrusted faster, making my annoyance rise.

"Oh God," I whispered, "_Pourquoi est-ce si bon?"_

"Are you alright?" Connor panted, sounding just as pleasured as me.

"I'm in heaven and beyond, so what do you think?" I chuckled, gasping as Connor lightly nips my neck, mostly likely causing a bruise.

I struggle to form words beyond that point. The tension has become completely and utterly unbareable and I wanted more than anything for that tension to disappear. I scratch his muscular back, silently begging him to make the pressure go away. This felt better than anything I'd ever felt and being with Connor, so close, so intimate, so...open.

I feel like I'm getting close to something, but it's like water in my hands; it just slips through my fingers every time I reach for it. It's utterly frustrating and I claw at Connor's back even harder, making him growl into my ear.

"I-Is...it meant...t-to be this f-frustrating?" I stammered, whimpering and silently crying out as he slides his hands down my sides and to my waist.

He slows down his pace completely, bringing his gaze back to my eyes. I smile softly, pulling Connor's lips down to mine. Nothing in the world mattered anymore but him, the feeling of his skin against mine, his lips on mine and his arms around me. Then, with one touch on my most intimate place and the tension explodes.

I arch into him as sparks appear in my vision and I fall into complete and utter bliss. My loud moans and screams are muffled in Connor's mouth but he must know what's happening, because he draws that feeling out and makes it last.

I hardly remember what happened after that. All I remember was being with Connor and almost nothing else...

* * *

Nightmares fill my sleep, destroying my right to sleep. Nightmares of my mother's death, my childhood traumas and my personal worries. Every time I close my eyes, some ungodly image is plastered on the back of my eyelids and I am quickly jolted out of my sleep.

The image of my mother, lying dead on the ground with a bullet between her eyes. Her lifeless jade eyes stare at me with fear and I quickly snap out of my sleep, gasping for air.

Tears brim my eyes and I sob silently into my pillow, making sure not to wake Connor beside me. I should feel happy right now, being with him and finally being able to say openly that I love him. But all I feel is guilt and shame.

I went against everything my mother ever taught me. Trust no one, it's safer that way? Isn't that what I have always known? Isn't that the rule I have always lived by? To throw it all away for love...it seems ridiculous now.

"Love...is a fools emotion," Mama had once told me, "A man may tell you that he loves you and the he will do anything for you but in the end..._he _is the one who will slip the knife into your back."

My emotions run high and I suddenly feel claustrophobic in my room. I need to get out, to breathe, to think. I need to draw or paint or do anything instead of lying here in complete fear.

I throw the covers back and get dressed in a hurry, throwing on a loose dress and overcoat before swiftly exiting the room with my sketch book and pencils in hand. I sneak down the stairs as quietly as I can before exiting out the front door and walking around the side of the estate to the small cliff drop. The morning air is brisk, as usual but there's something in the air that makes it seem even colder and I pull my coat tighter around my body. My hair hangs free in the wind, although I don't really mind, just as long as it doesn't get so tangled that I won't be able to brush it. I sit myself down against a large boulder, my back resting against the cold earth and my knees drawn up as closely to my chest as possible. I open my sketch book and sit it in the small gap between my chest and thighs and lay my pencils out next to me.

Pink lines the horizon, making the the dark blue sky above it seem lighter as sunrise looms. I pick up my pencil and do what I do best. I capture the moment, no matter how brutal, no matter how beautiful, no matter how much it pains me to do so...I put my pencil to paper and draw.

* * *

**Oooookay, how was that? I'm not very experienced right lemons, so please don't be too harsh. I don't really know if this was crap or not but I hope it was bearable. Read and Review please and tell me how it was and what I could improve on. I know I'm not the best writer but I want to for all the reviews and the support. I have a few constant reviewers which makes me happy, (sorry can't quite remember your names. Love yas nonetheless). Sorry for my update times being a little haywire but I've had a lot of things going on and I didn't quite have the time to write, so sorry for that. Thank you again and I'm gonna stop rambling now :P. Bye!**


	16. Chapter 15: High to Low

Chapter 15:

High to Low

* * *

"Sydney?"

Lucy's voice jolts me out of my artistic trance, a small jump causing me to flick my pencil across the page and make a line where there shouldn't be. It's well after sunrise now, although the sky is still a painted orange and pink colour. I've been out here all morning, drawing the sunrise just as I did when I was a little girl. Nothing had come to mind about my situation with Connor but in a way, I'm glad about that. It's been peaceful, to not be worried about something like invading Templars or falling in love. It was nice...but of course, all good things must end.

Lucy walks gracefully around the boulder as I snap my sketch book shut and place it beside me, her white nightgown looking painfully starch against her tanned skin and black hair. She's grown taller over the years, now at the age of thirteen, she is much more of a young lady than she once was. She now possesses curves and breasts, her once child like features have now sharpened and have turned into that of a beautiful young girl's. I'm jealous in a way, of how she got Papa's black hair and long eyelashes as well as her own mother's golden hazel eyes and high cheekbones. She's been so self-conscious lately, probably relating back to the fact that she's constantly growing and she's been having growing pains for weeks now. She gained Papa's height unfortunately, although I inherited my mother's long legs, I never got his freakish height.

I lower my knees down and Lucy promptly sits herself down on my lap, stretching maher legs out over min and leaning against my body with her head in the crook of my neck. In the morning life, she looks slightly pale, her tanned skin a shade lighter and her eyes seem glassy. I wrap my arms around her waist and rest my chin on her shoulder.

"Couldn't sleep?" I asked, surprised by how croaky my voice is.

"Yes. I...I've had my first bleeding...I think," She answered timidly, "I had to change because last night I woke up and there was...blood everywhere and I had to find Myriam to take care of it because I knew you were with Connor last night-"

"Shhh, calm down. Stop and breathe. It's alright. I'm sure Myriam didn't mind and I'll probably get an ear full but I swear it's alright. Do you feel well? Do want to go see Doctor White?"

"Sure. I just feel sick to the stomach is all. Like I can't keep any food down at all. Did you feel that when you...first got yours?"

"No, I suffered more emotional effects than physical."

"What do you mean emotional?"

"Well, I was angry all the time. And easily tempered. At one point I was so angry that I ran at Papa with a pair of scissors. I think he got the message not to mess with me when I was in my time."

Lucy giggles, a small smile making her face gain a little more colour. I run a hand through her silky black hair then rest my chin on her shoulder.

"Good Lord...you're becoming a woman now," I whispered, vaguely wondering if she can hear me, "It only seems like yesterday that you came to me, wild-eyed and little. How did the years fly by?"

"They always do," Lucy replied, staring blankly out into the horizon, "What...What happened last night? With Connor, I mean? Did you two...actually...you know-"

"Make love? Yes. Any other questions?"

"Well, that was straight forward. H-H-...How was it? Did it feel...good?"

"Well...yes but not to begin with. It hurt but then it disappeared and...certain things happened."

"By certain things, you mean what exactly?"

I smile mischievously, causing Lucy to giggle nervously, "Some things are best left to be experienced."

* * *

Achilles and Connor engage into yet another heated argument, my current headache already eating away at my patience. Throwing down my pen, I put my head in my hands and sighs, frustration bubbling on the surface of my skin.

Connor and I have had a downfall in our relationship, yet again. I've been refusing to talk or even look at him, all over an issue I knew that I would get caught on. For the past two weeks, he's been acting like I'm his property and I'm to be protected at all costs. No matter how much we fight and bicker, nothing seemed to turn his mind. Not until I slapped him.

It just happened and I didn't even realise my anger had got the best of me until a few seconds after. He quickly left after that, turning and slamming my bedroom door behind him so hard that he splintered my lock. I had just stood there, in shock for a few minutes before bursting out in tears. That night, I cried myself to sleep.

Lucy has been sleeping in my bed with me of late, due to Achilles and Connor's constant arguing. When the fighting got loud, I would lay in bed with her and sing her to sleep. I've agreed to take her with us on the hunt for Benjamin Church but I fear that I may not be able to work with Connor without him arguing with me. I feel so guilty and upset for throwing him away like that. We had so much going for us and yet we still managed to shatter our small moment of trust entirely.

I snap my journel shut and stand from the desk, nervously fiddling with my shawl as I approach Connor and Achilles. Connor storms out the front door, looking pissed off and angry as usual. Achilles and Connor argue loudly, although I hardly catch any of it as I lean up against the doorframe, gently rubbing my temples with my fingertips in an attempt to calm my raging headache.

"Could you two please quit your arguing and get back inside?" I sighed, shivering as a cold wind rushes past, "Frankly, I've had enough of your bickering over the last two weeks and I am seriously considering clonking your heads together and locking you both in the cellar for the week."

"Oh, you are the one who is tired of arguing Sydney?!" Connor snapped, his outburst startling me slightly, "Were you not the one who argued with me for four days, continuously until you resorted to violence to sort out your probelms?!"

"I was angry and upset, you stupid little Mohawk!" I yelled, my headache becoming too much, "You don't own me and I don't need protecting! You continuously told me otherwise and I got angry. I didn't even realise what I did, alright?! Why can you not see that I am killing myself for what I did? You are naive, like a child, Connor! You pay no attention to those around you and you make reckless and thoughtless decisions without any proper knowledge. I will love you until the day I die, Connor but you need to stop pretending that you are the only one in this world who can make a desicion!"

I abruptly turn and leave, running up the stairs and entering my bedroom. I get dressed in a hurry, the need to get out, to breathe and think overwhelming my aching mind. With a fury-filled tug, I pull up my hood and march out the door. I quickly run back down the stairs and out into the cold once more, only to be stopped by Achilles.

"Don't make the same mistake he did," He warned, putting a hand on my shoulder to stop me, "He's not worth the trouble, child."

"He is to me," I snapped back, "He'll get himself killed if I don't go with him. Just...tell Lucy I'm sorry. She'll be angry that she couldn't come with me."

"No, she won't!"

Out of nowhere, Lucy appears, fully dressed in Assassin's gear with a wide smile on her face. Her black hair falls out of her hood in a braid, the white gear looking painfully stark against her black hair. I groan and brush Achilles hand away.

"Lord help us," He muttered, before returning to the house, "Make sure she's kept safe, Sydney."

"I can take care of myself!" Lucy exclaimed as I grab her hand and lead her to the stables.

"Yes, I know that but I am still responsible for you. So if you so much as bare a scratch when we get back, Achilles with have me drawn, quartered and my head will be placed on a spike. Come on, let's get the horses. We have to catch up to Connor."

* * *

And that's exactly what we did. For three days, we rode full speed in Connor's direction until we finally met up with him. By that stage, I was none too happy.

Snow covers every ground surface in sight, a bitter wind causing me to shiver as the tips of my fingers go numb with the cold. Winter is at it's worst, with a blizzard appearing almost every day and delaying our search even more. Luckily, it's probably delayed Connor as well, although I doubt that a little snow would stop him from getting what he wanted.

Lucy swears loudly beside me, angrily shaking her hand as if she had cut it.

"Damn cold. My hands are freezing," She hissed, "Connor had to run away in winter, didn't he?"

"He's nearby," I replied, ignoring her complaint, "I found one of his snares a few miles back. He can't be too far."

"Remind me to shoot him or something when we do actually catch up to him. He deserves it."

"And that is exactly why I took your gun off you."

Lucy groans, violently flicking a lock her her hair out of her face. Rolling my eyes, I turn my attention back to the road. Through the wind and snow, I can just see a white figure on a horse, a bow slung across his back and a tomahawk at his side.

"Connor," I growled, before spurring my horse into a full sprint.

I can hardly hear Lucy yelling at me as I continue forward, biting back the urge to swear as the wind whips my face with the force of brick wall. I push on, eventually reaching Connor through the freezing blizzard winds. I cut him off and pull my hood down in one swift motion, showing my face.

"You're an ass, you know that right?!" I yelled over the wind, "We've been out here for three fucking days trying to find you! And don't you dare judge me for fucking swearing. It's cold and I'm extremely tired from trying to find you."

"_We? _What do you mean 'we'?" Connor asked, completely ignoring my insults.

"Lucy came along and be happy that I took her gun from her. She was planning to shoot you."

"And I still am!" Lucy called, pulling up beside Connor with a smile.

"Sydney-"

"Oh shut up! I don't need a lecture from you."

"Clearly, you do," He snapped, pulling down his own hood and giving me a death stare.

"Don't make me slap you again. Maybe this time I'll punch you like I've been dying to do since the first time I met-"

"Stop!" Lucy yelled, "Jesus Christ, you're like children. Just make up, hug it out, kiss, do whatever the hell you do and shut up."

Lucy's words are sobering but they don't disperse my anger. With one more rage-filled glare, I whip my head around and pull my hood back up. I let Connor pass then reluctantly ride beside him, strictly sticking to business.

"Let me guess: we're heading to Philadelphia to see Washington," I said, annoyance lacing every word.

"Yes. Why did you bring Lucy with you? You know how dangerous that is for her-"

"She knows the risk and she was prepared to take it. And frankly, you haven't talked to either one of us lately, so how should you know what's going on in our heads?"

"Maybe if you were not so cold towards me, I might actually be able to have a decent conversation with you."

"Oh so I'm at fault here? Who was the one who chose to wrap me in cotton wood? So what if we slept together? That doesn't mean you own me."

"It meant something to me, Sydney. But obviously, I was wrong about you. You're still as distrusting as ever."

"That's how I was brought up, Connor. That's what I know. It's what I've _always _known. I can't just change everything about myself, all for you."

"The letter your mother gave you said to open up-"

"Oh please! I'm pretty sure Mama meant open up and trust more, not to open up my legs for you."

"That is not what I meant."

"It was implied."

"No, it was not."

"Oh my God, you're such a child."

"And you are not?"

Lucy groans loudly behind us, cutting into the conversation, "Somebody please, just shoot me now and spare me the bickering."

"I _will _shoot you if you keep inturrupting like that," I growled, before quickly falling silent as we reach a clearing.

We enter what, on my first impressions, looked like a soldier's encampment, with small groups of Patriots huddled around fires and white tents pitched everywhere but as we rode further in, I realise that it's actually a fort of some kind. Built on a high up hill, it serves as both a good defensive post and vantage point. Several cannons line the hilltop, though I highly doubt any of them would work in this weather. George Washington stands by one, looking absent-mindedly out into the snow covered forest.

"I'm assuming this is who we're looking for?" Lucy asked, earning a slight head nod from Connor.

_He's still not happy. _Rolling my eyes at Connor's stubbornness, I swing my leg off the horses back and land on the ground, the stiffness in my legs already making me groan. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I follow Connor as we walk to Washington, at which I tug Lucy close and hold her there.

"Only talk if necessary," I whispered to her, "I don't think Connor would be too happy if you somehow ticked of the Commander."

"For starters, Connor isn't particularly happy at all right now and I think you have more chance of annoying the Commander in your pissed off state."

"Don't test me alright?!"

"You really are in love with him arent't you?"

I sharply hit her on the back of the head, earning a light punch to my side. We straighten up as the Commander turns and Connor engages in conversation.

"Commander," Connor said, catching Washington's attention.

"Connor. Sydney, it's good to see you."

"Likewise," I replied dryly, silently hoping he doesn't notice Lucy.

"Is there any news on Lee?" Connor asked, also stepping in front of Lucy to keep her out of sight.

"No..." Washington replied, his sentence giving no explanation, "I'm sorry. I have been distracted. Some supply caravans meant for the camp have gone missing. I suspect treachery."

A gasp from Lucy sparks Washington's interest, his head swivelling around to look at me. I sigh, stepping aside to show the small girl behind me. Lucy bites her lip worryingly, twirling her finger around the end of her braid and staring down at her feet.

"I-I'm sorry, sir," She muttered, stuttering on her words, "I didn't mean to be so ignorant but...um-"

"I didn't know you recruited so young," Washington chuckled, smiling softly at Lucy.

"My sister," I explained, "Not that it could be helped. She pretty much jumped at the opportunity. Don't worry about her, she's with us."

"I assumed so. I hope you aren't as shy with your blade, little girl."

With a small giggle, Lucy shakes her head and steps out of the way, letting us resume business. I hardly pay any attention to the conversation, only interjecting when necessary and when information is neglected. All the evidence leads to Benjamin Church, who was conveniently been released from prison for treachery around the same time supply caravans went missing. It's too much of a coincidence to not be fact.

"We will find Church for you," Connor declared, a suspicious look crossing Washington's face as he does.

"Why? Why do you care?"

"Does it really matter what reasons we have to help?" I said, rubbing Lucy's shoulder to try and keep her warm from the cold as she shivers against me.

Taking two quick glances at myself and Connor, he finally nods, "As you wish. We've received reports of trouble along the southern road, might be he's responsible. I suggest you begin your search there."

With a small head nod, we're gone, off in search of the traitor who just happens to be on our kill list. Since I had suggested that horses might be too loud and give away our position, we went on foot. Running through snow isn't exactly an easy task, although both Lucy and Connor are used to it, I have to free run over trees until we reach an abandoned church.

Lucy and Connor stop in front of and and I drop down, a sudden jolt of pain shooting up my legs as I land.

"I have a question," I said, annoyance lacing my words, "Why did we stop?"

"Someone's been here," Connor replied, ignoring my agitated tone, "There might be someone still around."

"It's abandoned. Do you want me to define abandoned for you? There's no one here anymore-"

"It's worth a try, Sydney," Lucy snapped impatiently, "I'll look around, you two go inside. I need some time to myself, without you two arguing."

Without another word, Lucy runs off, hardly making a sound as she goes. I roll my eyes and walk forward into the church, dragging Connor with me.

"Come on, better get this over with," I snapped, hardly noticing the sound of something moving in the rafters above us.

All I hear is Connor mutter some insult before somebody grabs me from behind and swings me into the wall. My back hits the wall hard and I swear loudly, unable to engage my reflexes quick enough to block my attacker's strike. He backhands me and puns me to the wall, the cold feeling of a blade pressed up against my throat sending a shiver down my spine.

Only now can I see my attacker in full view and the sight instantly fills me with rage.

"I should have known you'd come looking for me," I growled, struggling against him.

My father smiles coldly, pressing the knife even harder into my throat.

"And I should have killed you in your crib, my darling daughter."


	17. Chapter 16: Fragile Alliances

Chapter 16:

Fragile Alliances

* * *

"Any last words, Sydney?"

Bitter hate and rage bubbles under the surface of my white skin, disgust lacing the animalistic growl that rumbles out of my throat. Papa cocks his head to the side, chuckling coldly. His blue eyes sparkle with a similar form of hate and disgust but the deeper I look, I see a strange sadness. _What could he possibly be sad about?_

"How could you?!" I hissed, staring into his eyes, "How could you just sit by and watch Mama get executed in such a way?!"_  
_

"Simple; I didn't," He replied, a twinge in his tone almost sounding as if he's fighting back a sob, "It wasn't my choice-"

"Like hell it was! You sat by and watched like the coward that you are, while Mama got her pretty little brains blown out. Well go on then, get it over with. _Kill me while you have the chance, filthy_ Templar."

Papa smiles coldly, a small spark of sadness twinkling in his eye, "As you wish, Assassin."

As he draws back to plunge his blade in my throat, I take my opportunity and shove him backwards. He collides with Haytham, who had just got pushed away by Connor. I quickly run around to Connor, a dagger in hand. I can feel warm wet blood seeping out of the thin cut on my neck but I ignore it, staring intently at my father.

"Come to finish the job, you two?" I snapped, "To be honest, you're a tad slack considering you didn't kill us on first sight."

"Well, it would have been a coward's deed to stab someone in the back," Papa replied calmly, a lock of his black hair escaping his ponytail and curling around his face.

"You'd know all about that," I growled, holding my dagger up defensively.

"Come to check up on Church?" Connor snarled, switching gazes from Haytham to my father, "Come to see if he stole enough for your British brothers?"

"Oh and that isn't offensive?" Papa sighed, "Benjamin Church is neither our friend nor our brother. No more than the redcoats or their idiot king. Sydney, I thought I taught you better."

"You taught me to corrupt and conquer, that's what you did!" I snapped, "No offence but those lessons stick in my mind and not in a good way."

Haytham scoffs at my remark, while Papa simply rolls his eyes.

"I expected naïveté but this..." Haytham exclaimed, "I thought Sydney might know a little different but it seems she is as corrupt as well."

"Fuck you!" I hissed, the words tasting like poison as they roll off my tongue.

"The Templars do not support the Crown," Haytham sighed, a hint of frustration in his tone, "We seek the same as you! Freedom. Justice. Independence."

"But..." Connor began, somewhat holding back from his explanation.

"But what? Hm?"

"Johnson. Pitcairn. Hickey. They sought to steal land. To sack towns. To murder George Washington."

"Johnson sought to own land so that we might keep it safe. Pitcairn aimed for diplomacy-which you cocked up thoroughly enough to start a god-damned war!-"

"Oh for Christ's sake, it was going to happen anyway!" I snapped, "If the redcoats dropped a spoon on a Patriot's land, that would have done it."

"War could have been avoided, had your little Mohawk bastard not ruined the plan," Papa interjected, waving a knife Connor's way.

"Call him that again. I dare you," I growled, my anger beginning to bubble over.

"As for Hickey," Haytham continued, sounding slightly annoyed from being interrupted, "George Washington is a retched leader. He's lost almost every battle in which he's taken part. The man's wracked with uncertainty and insecurity. Only look at Valley Forge to see my words are true. We're all better off without him."

"Blah blah blah, in through one ear and out the other," I said, my stubbornness showing through, "Don't try convince those who have already made up their minds."

"You are still a child, Sydney," Papa snapped, "You haven't lived long enough to know what you want."

"You have no hold over her anymore," Connor growled, stepping in front of me.

Papa alternates glances between Connor and I before a dark smile twist his face and he chuckles softly, "Had good time, Sydney? I'm surprised...I thought you would have given in to Michael before you gave in to him. Was it good, boy? Did you enjoy defiling my daughter-"

"Shut your mouth," I snapped, "I'm not your daughter. I don't belong to you."

Papa shrugs, "Not much of a loss. You always were too much like your mother."

At the mentioning of my mother, my expression twists into a scowl and I fight back to urge to pounce on him then and there. Haytham sighs, shaking his head.

"Look...as much as I'd love to spar with you Connor and your little French beauty who looks as if she could kill Steven and I in a split second, Benjamin Church's mout is as big as his ego. You two clearly want to suppose he's stolen, we want him punished. Our interests are aligned."

"What do you propose?" Connor asked, looking to me for a slight glimpse of reassurance.

I shrug, leaving the option to him. I despise the idea of working together with my father but it seems like a good enough excuse, since our interests _are _aligned. I just hope Lucy will go along with the plan if we do agree.

"A truce. Perhaps...perhaps some time together might do us good. You are my son, after all, and might still be saved from your ignorance." He pauses slightly before releasing his hidden blade and brandishing it threateningly, "I can kill you now if you prefer?"

Connor thinks about it for a few moments before turning his attention to me, "What do you think of this?"

"I don't mind," I said, "As long as they keep their end of the bargain and don't try to kill me in my sleep, I'm alright with it. I just don't know how Lucy will take it."

"Lucy?" Papa said, legitimately confused now.

"I brought her along," I explained, "She's been dying to come along to an assassination. I thought now was the time."

"She's thirteen!"

"Older than I was when I first killed person if I remember. I was ten."

"And you suffered to consequences-"

"Well, no shit thanks to you two. Look, do you want our help or not?"

Papa sighs but agrees. Weapons are put away and Haytham looks thoroughly pleased with himself.

"Exellent. Shall we be off?" He said cheerfully, turning toward the exit and running straight into Lucy at the same time.

She stumbles then regains her balance, her eyes widening as she recognises Haytham. She looks over at me and Connor, then spots our father in the corner.

"You," She hissed, pushing Haytham out of the way and closing in on Papa, hidden blade out and ready.

I step out in front of her before she can get to him, "Lucy, wait, wait, wait. Stop, don't do this."

"Can you not see who you're protecting, Sydney!?" She shrieked, staring daggers at Papa, "He killed my mother and yours as well! He tortured you for all your life and was going to do that same to me-"

"Let me explain," I interrupted, stopping her mid-sentence, "Just try to hear me out here and keep an open mind please."

After a few minutes of explaining, Lucy finally settles down and agrees to our plan, although her death stare on Papa doesn't waver. After a few alternating glances between Haytham and Papa, she finally speaks.

"If either of you step out of line, I will personally see to it that you are both drawn, quartered and your heads are put on spikes in front of the Homestead," She snapped, "You got it?"

Papa shrugs, "A bit gruesome but alright, far enough. Haytham, you'd better agree. One thing about my daughters is that they tend to follow up on their promises or in this case, threats."

Haytham takes one look at Lucy then nods, before returning to the exit, "Now will we leave?"

"Do you even know where Benjamin Church has gone?" Connor asked, a hint of mischief in his tone.

Haytham sighs, "I'm afraid not. We'd hoped to ambush him or one of his men when they came back here. But I'm afraid, we were to too late."

Connor walks forward, Lucy and I in tow. He looks out into the snow bitten forest and then looks down at Lucy, "I think we can track him."

"It'll be difficult," Lucy sighed, before a light smile stretches across her face, "But I've always admired a challenge."

"You'd better get going," I said, "You two are the hunters. I'm the people person, remember? You find, I interrogate. I'll follow through the tree tops."

With the minimalistic plan in place, we set off, Lucy and Connor tracking on the ground and I follow through the tree tops while Haytham and Papa struggle to get through the snow. It doesn't take long to find our man, although Connor isn't exactly the master of being subtle.

We approach him from behind, although I stay in the trees just in case he decides to run. Instead of pinning him down and interrogating him like any normal person, Connor chooses to simply ask.

"Are you Ben Church's man?" He asked, a groan escaping my mouth as soon as I hear it.

The man takes off running and I can't hold back a sarcastic comment before running after the man, "Subtle, Connor! Try and think before you send someone running!"

The man passes by and I drop down, pinning him to the ground and also taking my fall damage.

"Nice try, _cherie," _I said, hauling him to his feet and shoving him into a tree, "But you didn't get far, now did you?"

The crunch of snow behind me alerts my attention and I swivel around, one hand still around the man's throat, pinning him to the tree, and the other holding my pistol, only to have it snatched out of my hand in an instant.

"Don't you dare point that damned thing at me, girl," Papa growled, "You could hurt someone."

"Says you," I muttered, stepping back as Connor takes over.

I cross my arms over my chest and lean against a tree, mumbling to myself angrily. I hate having to work with my enemies but it's convenient for both of us. And maybe what Haytham had said was right; I am my father's daughter. Maybe time together will do us a certain amount of good, if not worsen our fragile relationship, which is frankly alright with me. All the more reason to kill him. But one thing frightens me most out of this whole situation, one thing that could defy everything I've ever known.

What if my father isn't as cruel and sadistic as I always thought he was?

* * *

_One month later..._

* * *

"Unbelievable."

My shoulder aches as Connor tends to my wounds, the ache being a result of the battle with some mercenaries a month back. Papa and Haytham had ran off, ran off and left us to kill a bunch of mercenaries that just had them captive. I dislocated my shoulder during the fight, but with much swearing and protest, Connor popped it back into place. I fear it will never be the same again but it's gotten better, although the bruises still haven't faded. Lucy decided it was best she stayed home. She didn't like the idea of working with Papa and to be honest, I don't blame her.

The terrible stinging sensation of Connor cleaning my knee snaps me back to reality, a hiss escaping my mouth.

"Ouch! Careful. I got burnt in that fight you know," I snapped, the wet feeling of warm blood trickling down my shin also leaving a terrible metallic scent in the air.

"You whine so much, Sydney," Connor sighed, setting down the blood soaked cloth and beginning to wrap it in a thick white bandage.

A small smile tugs at my lips as I gaze down at Connor, the feeling of his strong hands gliding along my pale skin reminding me of how gentle he can be. And...how dangerous. Next to mine, Connor's tanned skin looks even darker next to my near white European skin. If only I had skin that was not so white, maybe he wouldn't flinch every time I touched him. If only I did not speak with a British accent, maybe he wouldn't have his hand over his gun. If only I did not deny my love for him, maybe he'd look me in the eye when he speaks to me.

"We should keep going," I said, quickly pulling my trouser leg down the instant Connor finishes with the gash on my knee, "New York's not far and I'm getting impatient. We've been riding a month. The least we could do is get this over with."

Connor sighs, throwing all the blood soaked pieces of cloth into the dying fire. They ignite in an instant then the next, they're gone. I get dressed in a hurry, the extent of my injuries making it hard to move quickly.

"You're always impatient," Connor mumbled, probably not intending for me to hear but I do anyway, causing me to flash him a dangerous look.

I drag myself to my feet, tugging my hood up as I do. It's a half an hour ride into New York at this rate and even half an hour with Connor seems unbearable at this time. As I smother the fire and eventually pull myself up onto my horse, I keep going over one phrase in my head.

"Your father is a monster, nothing more, nothing less," My mother's voice says, the words ringing in my head and going on and on like a mantra.

It's a distraction from Connor's lingering glances and hostile behavior but also a reminder that my father is exactly that: a monster. Through the past month, I've kept catching myself thinking good things of him, even considering that maybe killing him isn't exactly fair. _He wasn't fair to you for fifteen years of your life, why should you be fair? _I had thought, the suggestion eating at my mind with every mental struggle. Nothing could ever redeem Papa for what he did to me, absolutely nothing. But of course, there are a thousand other arguments in my head saying the exact opposite.

I groan, rubbing my tired eyes and taking off eyeliner at the same time. I didn't realise I'd been thinking for a while, as New York comes into view, the tall, bland buildings looking almost identical to those in Boston. The sun begins to set over the city and I flex my fingers, itching to sketch the sight before me. Through all the foul smells and harsh buildings, there's something beautiful in the sight. From the architecture of the houses and high towers to the painted sky above the city, the pinks, oranges and blues mixing together like acrylic on a canvas.

Connor catches me gazing at the sky and smiles softly, turning his head to gaze at the sky as well.

"Such beauty," I muttered, "What I would give to paint this."

"The city ruins the sight, does it not?" Connor said, steering his horse closer to mine.

"No...it blends well. You have eyes but you do not see, hunter. There is beauty in everything we see, even in the most harsh of things. That is what an artist sees. The beauty in the world. But we also see the dark and cruel things as clear as day, the ugly qualities in people and the atrocities of war. You can see such curious things if you open your eyes and actually see."

"How do you see past the bad things?"

"Simple. You ignore them. They aren't important, unless of course...you want to paint the pain of the world."

Lacing his fingers through mine, Connor gives me a reassuring squeeze of the hand, somehow knowing exactly of what's on my mind.

"Your mother's death was not your fault, Sydney," He whispered, lowering his voice so that only I can hear him speak, "Do not let anyone tell you otherwise."

"Even myself?" I said emotionlessly, "I could have done something, Connor. I wouldn't have cared if I had died with her, I just...I feel like I did something terribly wrong by letting her die like that."

"It is done, Sydney. You cannot change what happened."

"I know. But there's no harm in wondering...is there?"

I feel Connor flinch at the question and a strange feeling of revulsion shots through me. I jerk my hand back out of his grip and halt my horse to a stop. _Unbelievable. Father like son, he is. Never a bloody straight answer. _I swing my leg over and land on the ground, storming off in a tiny fit of anger.

Instinctively, my hand goes to the locket around my neck, the cold metal giving me a small sense of clarity. Somehow, the letter inside and the locket itself acts as a second conscious, giving me clearer and more open-minded thoughts than before. Unfortunately, this time the locket proves no use. I'm still as angry as before and the hunk of metal is simply cold and unhelpful in my closed fist.

Rolling my eyes, I head for the docks, ignoring Connor as he hurries after me. I take a deep breathe, preparing myself for another painstaking night with my 'monster' of a father.

* * *

**Heeeey, still with me? Sorry if my updates have been a little longer (when are they not these days) but I'm trying to write this in between assignments, exams, swim training ect. So please be patient with me. Thank you for the reviews, they are helpful and encouraging. I'm usually not sure how my writing is on each chapter so if you see something that's weird just tell me and I'll try to fix it up. Anyway, R&R, do whatever you usually do annnd I'll be off to be now.**


	18. Chapter 17: Into Ashes and Flame

Chapter 17:

Into Ashes and Flame

* * *

"Sydney-"

"Oh my God, I'm going to change my name if you keep saying it like that. Please, for the sake of my sanity, stop it."

"Do you two ever stop arguing?"

Papa's sudden voice makes me jump, the dark making it incredibly hard to see much around the docks. As he walks closer I can see him more clearly, his angular face, his baby blue eyes and ink black hair that is streaked with a small strain of white. His suit almost matches Haytham's, minus the cape and the hat but even in the dark and with his black clothes, I can still see the pistol strapped to his side and the stainless steel sword that I had made myself strapped to his hip. Even now, I remember heating the metal to white-hot intensity before twisting and bending the metal to perfection. I had had burns on my arms and fingers for weeks after that but still Papa had inisisted that I make my own weapons. Painting, sketching and playing instruments were not the only art forms my father had chosen to teach me.

"As a matter of fact, we don't," I mumbled, "Where's your best friend?"

"Evening, Sydney," A voice behind me said, causing me to jump yet again.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Connor smirk at my dismay, eardangers angry look from me. Haytham smiles as well when I turn to look at him, the similarities between those smiles sending shivers down my spine. Looking at him now, I can still tree the startling similarities between Haytham and his son. Although Connor has fierce brown eyes, Haytham has a strange steel blue, that didn't seem to have the same liveliness as Connor's. Their faces were the same shape, their heights and builds similar in appearance and they both look as if they could kill each other in one second. I wonder if I looked the same toward my father, if I looked as hostile towards him as Haytham and Connor appeared to each other.

Straightening up and snapping back to myself, I step out from between my father and Haytham. I quickly forget the argument I was having with Connor only a few minutes and get back to business.

"Alright, since we're done scaring the hell out of me," I said indignantly, "What now?"

"Benjamin Church is holed up in an abandoned brewery on the waterfront," Haytham stated, avoiding eye contact with both Connor and I, "We should be done with this by sunrise."

"Good. I would like to have those supplies returned as soon as possible," Connor said.

"And I'd like to get home," I muttered, "Not that being around you two isn't joy-"

"But you still hate us with heaven's fire behind you?" Papa interupted calmly, "Of course. Wouldn't want to keep you from your lost cause, now would we?"

"Come along then," Haytham said, his tone just as casual as Papa's, "Follow me."

With many muttered curses from me, we leave. Haytham is surprisingly quick on his feet but like Connor, his bulky frame tends to get in the way. Papa is the same, although he is stronger than me. I run past the three men with ease, only slowing to get directions from Haytham every once in a while. At one point, I get so far ahead that I actually sit down and take a break.

The muffled sound of footsteps running along roof tiles catches my attention and I jump to my feet, still examine my chipped nail polish.

"What took you so long?" I sighed, "I could have finished a six-hundred page boo. In the time it took you all to get here."

"We aren't as quick as you, Sid," Papa said breathlessly, taking a few deep breaths before he returns to normal breathing, "You could at least be a little sympathetic."

"Not to you, I won't," I mumbled, feeling Connor's eyes settle on me as I turn to Haytham, "Where now?"

"Not far. But I think we should take a small break, considering you ran off at light speed and left us to catch up."

I snort, sitting myself back down on the ledge, "All men are slow. And whiny as well. Only in bed do they finally speed up and stop talking."

"Sydney," Connor hissed warningly, obviously not comfortable with the topic of our sex life.

"Oh good Lord," I hear Papa groan, "I knew there was something going on between you two. Haytham, it seems you owe me a shilling."

"Damn," Haytham said to no one in particular, "Should have known better."

I roll my eyes, the childish banter hardly even amusing me. "I wonder if I jump off this ledge and end it all, will I not be able to hear your voices ever again?"

They mustn't have heard me because Connor begins to ask questions that probably should remain unanswered.

"Tell me something," Connor said to Haytham, "You could have killed me when we first met. What stayed your hand?"

Haytham pauses for a few seconds before answering, "Curiosity. Any other questions?"

"What is it the Templars truly seek?"

"Corruption, power and land, as far as I know," I said, my hatred of Templar ideals showing through with my tone.

Haytham rolls his eyes at me, although Papa doesn't appear to hear me, "Quite the opposite really. Order. Purpose. Direction. No more than that. It's your lot that means to confound with this nonsense talk of freedom. Time was when the Assassins tried to attain a far more sensible goal...that of peace."

"Freedom _is_ peace."

"Freedom is not peace," Papa snapped, speaking for the first time in a while, "Freedom is an invitation to chaos beyond measure. The little revolution your friends have started is proof of that."

"Indeed," Haytham said, "We have stood before the Continental Congress and listened to them stamp and shout. All in the name of liberty. But it is just noise."

"And _this_ is why you favour Lee?" Connor asked, the last word a said with complete hatred.

"He understands the needs of this would be nation far better than the jobbernowls who profess to represent it."

"He understands the nation's needs?" I repeated, shaking my head as I stand to face him, "Charles Lee is a sadist and typical politician. And do you know what politicians do? Lie. Almost every second word that leave their mouths is a lie, which you claim to be noise. Tell me Haytham, what then separates his noise from the rest? All politicians policies are 'just noise', but it's the noise that is heard that is important. Washington's noise _was _heard. The people heard him. They made their choice."

"The people chose nothing. It was done by a group of privileged cowards seeking only to enrich themselves. They convened in private and made a decision that would benefit _them._ Oh they might have dressed it up with pretty words, but that does not make them true."

"The only difference between us, Assassins," Papa said calmly, the word 'Assassins' rolling off his tongue with a bitter acid aftertaste, "Is that we do not feign affection."

The words seem true but they do not stick. So before we leave once more, I let out one more bitter comment.

"That may be true, _Father," _I growled, anger bubbling on the surface of my skin as I speak, "But I ask again? What makes your pretty words any different? What makes you think you could do a better job than those before you? It's not _us _that you need to convince, Templars. One cannot change minds that have already decided. It's those who are unsure that you will have to fight for."

* * *

"I hope we get this over with soon," I muttered to Connor as we approach the brewery, "I'm getting tired of following them around and listening to their stupid ramblings."

"Only a little while longer, Sydney," Connor said reassuringly, lacing his fingers through mine as we walk, "Then we can get back to what we know best."

A small smile spreads across my face at his words, "I'm thinking that you're referring to assassinations but somehow, I don't think that's true."

Connor chuckles softly before taking his hand back and walking ahead of me. He passes Haytham and begins to approach the brewery but Haytham stops him.

"Hold a moment," He said, Papa and himself advancing to the edge of the shadows just to see more properly.

"Clever little prick," Papa mumbled, "You know any of them?"

"Not at all," Haytham replied, leaving Connor and I completely in the dark.

"Uh, care to explain, gentlemen?" I said, "We're just a tad clueless over here."

"We were hoping that we could wave the both of you past the guards but he's replaced most of them with men even I don't know," Papa answered, "And believe me, I know plenty of the guards around this place."

"Hm...Well, Steven and I should be able to slip past without arousing suspicion but-"

"We're going to have to change," I interrupted, already knowing where he's going, "I got that. I have an idea but I don't think any of you will like it when I get back."

"Why?" Papa asked, looking slightly suspicious.

"That's for me to know and you to find out. Connor?"

"I will find a guard who is off duty and take his uniform," Connor replied, giving me a slight glance of suspicion.

"Excellent," Haytham said cheerfully, his tone sending slight shivers down my spine, "We will wait for you here."

"Of course you will," Connor snapped, sounding none to happy with the idea of leaving them behind.

"Oh I'm sorry. Did you want me to hold your hand? Provide kind words of encouragement?"

Connor waves his comment away as he walks off, in a completely different direction to where I was going. I roll my eyes and turn to Haytham, who's is honestly looking quite pleased with himself.

"Was that really necessary?" I snapped, folding my arms over my chest.

"Will the sun rise again?" Papa said, looking highly amused.

I conclude that I will never get anywhere with that conversation and so I spin on my heel and walk in the direction I intended to go in the first place.

"Men...bloody idiots they are."

* * *

Connor's P.O.V

* * *

"You are not wearing that."

Sydney scoffs at me and rolls her eyes, the purple eyeshadow making her eyes seems even more green. Her hair flows free down her shoulders and back, although it doesn't deter from her dress. A courtesan's dress is what best describes it; revealing, skimpy tart very much unlike Sydney. And yet she wears it so convincingly, from the way she sways her hips just that little bit more when she walks, to the seductive smile she wears. Put together with the jade colour of the dress that matches her eyes and the plunging neckline that reveals much more of her than neither her father or I would like, she looks nothing like herself. The only thing I see that is familiar is her mother's locket that hangs around her neck, the silver metal shining in the light.

"I told you that you wouldn't like it but honestly, what else will not arouse suspicion?" She snapped, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at me.

"Many things, Sydney," Her father growled, his blue eyes staring down at her, "Many more things that could be less revealing and also better to fight in."

"Oh please, I can fight in a dress. And also, this disguise will distract the guard even more. Aren't you glad I have good looks on my side?"

It was true. With certain features on her face enhanced, Sydney looked even more beautiful than before, if that were even possible. Haytham shrugged, obviously not bothered by her clothes.

"She'll do fine," He said, earning a glare from me, "If she says she can fight, she can fight. Come along now. Best not waste any more time."

With one last distasteful glance at Sydney, I follow him, Sydney and Steven following behind us. As we get closer, Steven and I swap positions, letting me be close to Sydney. I stick close to her and I can feel her tension as she holds my hand tight as we stop at the gate. She silently mutters in French, in what sounds like a prayer. It's the same prayer I usually hear her say before a battle, although she always whispers it, never speaking loud enough for me to hear. Even when the guard questions who we are, Sydney does not let go of my hand.

"I recognise you two," The guard said, nodding toward Haytham and Steven before turning his gaze to Sydney and I, "Not the savage and the whore."

"Choose your words carefully," Steven growled, "That girl is not a whore. She is my daughter and it would be wise to let her through."

The guard looks taken aback, but complies, Steven's high status with the Templars helping us more than I thought.

"What about the savage?" The guard asked, the name he calls me spiking slight anger inside me.

Sydney somewhat feels my anger and squeezes my hands even tighter, I suspect more to hold me back if I choose to attack rather than to reassure me. This time, it's Haytham who responds.

"He's my son," He said simply, not a sarcastic tone to his voice at all.

The guard scoffs at the remark, not with disbelief but instead, amusement, "Tasted the forest fruits, have you?"

That almost makes me snap, but Sydney quickly moves closer to me and whispers into my ear, "Easy Connor. He's all bark and no bite. They're just words."

"Words can offend," I respond, making sure to stay quiet.

"I know," She replied, "Don't think they don't hurt me too. This'll be over soon. Just wait."

Just as she stops talking and goes back to where she was standing, the guard waves us past. Steven and Haytham walk through first, then Sydney and I pass through after them. But of course, the guard had something to say about Sydney.

"Ever feel like a good time, sweetheart," He said to Sydney, his eyes dipping lower than I would like, "Leave the savage behind and I'll always be here."

Before I can respond, Sydney snorts at his remark and snaps back one of her usual sarcastic comments, "Well, what can I say. Fucking a native is always much more fun than fucking some uptight British prick who can't last for an hour."

With one brief flick of her hair, Sydney storms off, dragging me along with her. I can't help but smile at her defensive nature toward me.

"Always more fun?" I asked, smiling her way.

She rolls her eyes, letting go of my hand and slowing down to a regular pace, "Opposites attract, Corporal. Didn't you know?"

She smiles cheekily then falls back to talk with her father. I proceed forward, not necessarily to talk to my own father but more because I want to get this task over with as quickly as possible. Haytham approaches the door, only to find it locked.

"This'll only take a moment," He said, getting down on one knee and beginning to pick the lock.

"It must be strange," I said, trying to strike up casual conversation, "Finding out about my existence, as you have."

"I'm actually curious as to what your mother might have said about me," He replied, the mentioning of my mother sparking anger inside me, "I always wondered what life might have been like, if she and I had stayed together. How is she by the way?"

"Dead. Murdered," I snapped, feeling Sydney's gaze settle on me as she walks around the corner, her father at her side.

"What?! I...I'm sorry," Haytham said, his eyes lowering to the floor purposely avoiding my eyes.

"Oh you're sorry?" I snapped, the anger from before finally snapping, "I found my mother burning alive. I will never forget her face, as she sent me away. And _you're sorry?" _

"Connor," Sydney said warningly, "Calm down."

"Charles Lee is the one who set my village alight and he did so, by _your order!" _

"What? That's impossible. I told them to give up on the Precursor Site. I told them to aim for more practical pursuits-"

"It is done. And I am all out of forgiveness."

Pushing past Haytham and ignoring Sydney's wide eyes as I walk into the hall, a part of me willing the evening to be over and another part of me screams at me to turn back. But unfortunately, I don't.

* * *

Sydney's P.O.V

* * *

"Jesus, he couldn't help himself, could he?" I muttered as I pushed past Haytham, entering the hall.

Before I reach Connor, someone seizes my arm, that someone being my father as Haytham walks by us.

"Be on your guard, Sydney," He whispered into my ear, "Doesn't this seem a little too easy?"

"Just a tad," I replied, finally giving in to that terrible gut feeling that something is wrong, "Do you think they know?"

"We can only hope."

Unfortunately, we are proven right. On the order of the decoy Benjamin Church, men swarm around us, muskets trained on every one of us. I back up until I hit Connor, snatching a knife from his side.

"Don't mind if I borrow this, do you Corporal?" I said, holding the knife up high in defence.

"Not at all," He replied, just as battle erupts into chaos.

A man with an itching trigger finger aims his gun at me, intending to fire but I'm onto him, snatching the barrel of the gun as he points it in my face and shoving it away as he pulls the trigger. Dazed, he hardly even sees me coming. I yank the musket from his hands and advance on him, shoving the blade into his chest and pulling the pistol from him at the same time. In one quick slash, I cut my dress from mid-thigh, giving me more manoeuvrability and giving me better ability to kick.

Another man comes at me, this one with a nasty looking dagger in hand, and slashes downwards, a strike that I quickly dodge before swiftly punching him in the nose then hooking a hand around his neck and driving his face into my knee with devastating force. Another man behind him spots me, but he quickly has Connor's knife buried in his forehead as I threw it, quickly snatching the nasty looking dagger from the ground before returning to fighting.

I hardly have time to worry about anyone else, as the usual adrenaline of battle kicks in. Everything appears in a slight blur and it makes it hard to focus sometimes. But nothing could have helped me when a man snuck up behind me and yanked my arm behind my back. In one instant, I feel my bad shoulder dislocate and I cry out, in both surprise and pain.

Then there is another cry. But this time, it's from the man holding me as he dies. The adrenaline drains from my body and I fall back, falling into my father's arms.

"Oh God," I groaned, clutching at my aching shoulder, "Not again."

"Again?" Papa asked, sounding somewhat amused.

"I dislocated it when you and your buddy left us to deal with the mercenaries a month or so back. Ow, Jesus Christ!"

"As much as you like to think he'll help you, Jesus is probably in no better condition to help you."

"Ugh, shut up you sarcastic, idiot."

Papa chuckles, gently grabbing my arm, "I love you too, darling."

A sharp jolt of pain hits my shoulder and I bite my lip hard to stop myself from screaming, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth as I do. I swear loudly, groaning as I test out my shoulder just to see if it's stable.

"Ouch," I groaned, "Help me up, will you? Adrenaline kicks worn off."

"Of course," Papa sighed, taking my hands and slowly helping me up.

Being this close to my father, I feel slightly better...safer. His baby blue eyes stare down at me, his hand coming up to brush a lock of hair behind my ear.

"Still beautiful," He whispered, tracing my jawline with his finger.

_Back away, Sydney. Back away. _A shiver runs down my spine as I back away from my father, sucking in much needed breath that I didn't even know I was holding.

"We...We should get back," I stuttered, jumping as I hear the sound of a hidden blade releasing.

I turn to see the decoy collapsing, his dead body settling on the ground. Connor stares daggers at his father, obviously furious at the fact that Haytham killed the decoy. But we hardly have time to celebrate.

Men run along the rafters, muskets in arms. They point the guns at us, to which Papa grabs me by the shoulders and throws me down onto the ground. The next thing I hear is a massive explosion.

Debris flies everywhere, the majority of it passing by myself and Papa, although I know I'll be searching my hands and knees for splinters later tonight. Before the ringing in my ears dies down, Papa pulls me to my feet and yells words I cannot hear.

"Get out, now!" He yelled, once the ringing had finally died down.

"Oh really," I snapped back, groaning as a headache comes in, "I never thought that. The building's burning down and I thought I'd stay the night."

"Now is not the time for your stupid little comments, Sydney."

"Then bloody well, let me leave."

I shove Papa away and follow Haytham, who seems to have found a way out that won't burn us all to a crisp. Unfortunately, vigorous climbing is involved. I pull myself up to the burning rafters, hot sparks flying off the burning wood and burning my knuckles as I slip past the beams and run along the rafters. Climbing is much more of an effort, with my shoulder complaining the whole way and the constant heat that seems to drain my energy.

Haytham stops at a ledge and holds out a hand to help me up. I take it and just as I'm up over the edge, the platform I was climbing collapses.

"Shit," I muttered, "The others will have to find a way around."

"That's not the only problem," Haytham said, his gaze turning from the ledge to behind us.

I follow his gaze and find four men, with muskets trained on us.

"Got any knifes I could borrow?" I whispered, already planning out my next move.

Haytham gives me a confused look but complies, handing me two small throwing knifes and a simple dagger. _Perfect. _I swish aside my torn skirts and shove the two knifes into my stockings. I face the men and pray silently, whilst Haytham abuses the men with words.

"_Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio; contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium. Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamur: tuque, Princeps militiae Caelestis," _I muttered, drowning out Haytham's loud words, "_Sa__tanam aliosque spiritus malignos, qui ad perditionem animarum pervagantur in mundo, divina virtute in infernum detrude."_

"Sydney..." Haytham said warningly, obviously worried that I'm going to do absolutely nothing.

"It's too bad," I said, flicking my eyes up to the men and putting on a sweet smile, "St Michael isn't here to save you."

Bursting into action, I fling the dagger perfectly into the middle man's throat, sending him crumbling to the ground. Before the others can fully understand what's happened, I pull the two throwing knives from my stockings and fling them at the two outer men, both knives becoming buried into their skulls. And just to be a cheat, I pull out the pistol I stole from a man earlier and shoot the last man dead.

"And that," I said breathlessly, my low energy levels catching up to me, "Is how you take out mercenaries."

"Impressive," Haytham said, examining my work whilst picking up his weapons, "It could've been done a little faster though."

"I pray before I do something like that. It's just something I've become accustom to do."

The sound of someone climbing behind me forces a startled gasp out of me and I jump away from ledge as quickly as I can. Luckily, it's only Connor and Papa who appear from below.

Looking around, Papa smiles devilishly, "Haven't missed anything, have we?"

"Not really. Just me," I replied, leaning up against Connor as he comes to stand beside me.

Papa and Haytham begin looking for a way out but it seems like Connor has, more or less, found a way out.

"The wood looks weak," I said, "Maybe we could break through."

"We will have to try," Connor replied, "You alright with that?"

"As long as I'm not skewered on a spike on the other end, I'm fine with it."

Haytham and Papa come our way but Haytham almost instantly sees the flaw in our little plan.

"No," He said sternly, "We have no way of knowing what's on the other si-"

* * *

A brief feeling of weightlessness is interrupted by the sound of water filling my ears and my breath being knocked from my lungs. I quickly swim to the surface, coughing and spluttering as I gasp for air.

"Jesus," I gasped, "Well, at least I wasn't skewered."

"What now?" Papa asked, ignoring the fact that we're still in water.

"Martinique," Connor said, "That is where Church has headed."

"Martinique is a French island," I said, still gasping the breath, "In the Caribbean. Why would they go there?"

"What does it matter?" Haytham hissed, "We need to find him."

"Connor has a ship we can use and a crew as well. Now, can we talk about this out of the freezing water please? Before we all catch a fever and die!"

Papa rolls his eyes at me but they all agree. I haul myself up onto the dock, my dress soaked and my make-up dripping. I lay on my back, giggling, from both exhaustion and actual amusement.

"What are you laughing about?" Papa snapped.

"Oh nothing. Just nonsense, is all," I chuckled, "Well, that was fun."

"'Fun' is not how I would describe that."

"I'm sure you wouldn't. Just because you're so uptight."

Papa sighs and stands from his kneeling position, looking over to Connor for instructions.

"Sydney said you had a ship and crew?" He asked.

"Meet us at the docks when you are ready," Connor replied, his tone leaving no room for questions.

Just as I feel like I'm about to fall asleep, Connor picks me up and carries me away, letting me sleep with my head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart willing me into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

**I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'M SORRY!**

**Again, I'm sorry. I've been doing a lot this week with school and training and other things (fangirling over the TMI movie and wishing that I could get Saints Row 4 already) but I finished the chapter! With difficulty, mind you, but I did it. R&R or just do what you normally do. Reviews are appreciated and I thank all the constant reviewers and for everyone who reads my story and actually likes it. Okay, I'll stop rambling now.**

**Oh and a little bit of trivia, the prayer I used in this chapter is the Prayer to St Michael. It's a traditional battle prayer, usually asking for heavenly help in battle. Sydney's mother was Catholic, although her father's more of an atheist. She taught it to her in Latin, which is the language Connor mistakes as French. He would know the difference between languages so that's why he mistook it. Even though, Sydney is more like her father (being an atheist), she still prays before every battle, since it's more like a reflex than an actual prayer for help.**


	19. Chapter 18: Change of Heart

Chapter 18:

Change of Heart

* * *

The gentle rocking of the ship somehow wakes me, my muscles aching from exhaustion and over-use. I feel warm and dry, unlike the cold, wet feeling I had fallen asleep with. I can feel someone gently combing my hair with their fingers, one arm holding me close to their body. I moan, breathing in Connor's familiar scent.

"You've got a thing for taking me to bed, don't you?" I whispered, wondering if he even heard me.

Connor chuckles, twirling his fingers in my hair, "You started it."

I smile, burying my face in his hard chest, "I guess I did. Are we on the Aquila?"

"Yes. You've been asleep for about a day."

"Did you hold me the whole time?"

"Unfortunately, no. I have only been here for about two hours."

"That's good enough for me, Corporal. I'm just happy to wake up in that time frame. Where's Papa and Haytham?"

"Somewhere."

"Let me guess, you couldn't be bothered keeping track of them?"

"Of course not."

I chuckle, finally letting my eyes flutter open fully. The candlelight only provides a small portion of light, so I can only just see Connor in the dark. It's enough. Just being this close to him is enough for me.

There's a knock at the door and Connor's first mate, Mr Faulkner enters. HE eyes widen as he spots me and looks down at his feet sheepishly.

"Thought you might be here. Am I interruptin' somethin', Cap'in?" He asked, his heavy accent reminding me of some of the people I had once known in London with similar accents.

"Not at all," I said, rolling off Connor and onto my stomach, "If you're going to leave, Corporal, shut the door behind you. Wake me when you need me."

I hear Connor sigh, then lean over and kiss me on the cheek, "I won't be too long."

"Hope not."

And with that Connor leaves, leaving me with my own thoughts and dreams. I try to will myself to sleep but somehow, it just doesn't work and I lie awake in the bed, thinking about the events of the past few months. After an hour or so, I drift off, falling into a nightmare that I did not see coming.

* * *

_The world around me is cold and dark, no warmth radiating from the fire before me. As I look up, I realize the fire has engulfed a house, a house that looks startlingly familiar.  
_

_"Oh, no," I gasped, "Please, God no."_

_My childhood home burns as I watch, screams echoing from inside. The screams sound familiar as well but I can no longer hear them over the roaring of the fire destroying my former home. The elegant architecture of the house crackles and turns to ash before my eyes, until the house itself disappears, flames and all._

_A woman stands in it's place, wearing a ink black dress that bears no scorch marks. Her hair blows in the freezing wind, the ebony waves falling down to her waist. For a second, I think I'm looking at an older version of Lucy. But as the woman turns and faces me, golden hazel meets jade as Lucy's mother stares daggers at me. _

_"Monster..." She whispered, the sound of her voice barely audible over the roaring of wind in my ears, "Monster...like him."_

_"What?" I said, confusion sobering my fear, "What do you mean?" _

_"You are both the same," She growled, "Like father, like daughter." _

_Suddenly, I know exactly what she means. I back away, falling to my feet and hugging my knees. "No. No, I'm not like him. I can't be like him." _

_"Oh but you are," Lucy's mother said coldly, bitter amusement in her voice._

_"I didn't take Lucy from you," I snapped, "I didn't do it. We took care of her. Mama and I took care of her and kept her away from my father-" _

_"But you gave her a false name. Made her forget about her people and who she was." _

_"No, she never forgot. She just couldn't bear to remember." _

_"Your lies do not stick with me, child. Ratonhnhaké:ton will die because of you. All he worked for will go up in smoke and ash because of you." _

_Tears escape the corners of my eyes and I hide my face in my hands as i force back a sob. I feel a hand on my shoulder and a shiver goes down my spine. _

_"Always were a good shot Sydney." _

_Micheal's__ familiar voice fills my ears and I jerk away from him, kicking and shaking him off me as I scramble backwards. Micheal's flawless face smiles back at me, blood flicked up into his platinum blonde hair. Blood covers his clothed chest, right in the place I shot him. _

_"You're dead,"I said, pointing a shaky finger at him, "You're dead. You shouldn't be here." _

_"Uh Sydney, this is a dream. Technically speaking, I'm just a figment of your imagination but if it makes you feel better-"_

_"What do you want from me?" _

_"Nothing. Well, that's not exactly true but I can't exactly say what I want. It would be indecent."_

_My breath hitches in my throat and I let out a childish whimper before closing my eyes and covering my ears._

_"You're not real. You're not real. You're not real."_

_"I'll always be real, Sydney. You see, I still live. In your mind-"_

_"YOU'RE NOT REAL!"_

* * *

I jolt awake, biting back my screams as I hide my face in my pillow.

"Not real. Not real," I whimpered, fighting hard from control over my own body again.

After half an hour and no luck with calming down, I decide some fresh air might do me so good. I throw back the covers and grab a thin undercoat that was lying on the end of the bed. My cabin isn't as big as Connor's since he's the captain and I'm not but it's still of reasonable size. But unfortunately, in my panicked state, this small room is all too claustrophobic for me.

I throw on the coat, swish my mattered and tangled hair to one side and leave the room in complete silence. The first thing that hits me is the cold night breeze. It startles me at first but then it somehow calms me and I can breathe easily now, although I still cannot stop shaking. But the second thing I notice, is the music.

It's a somber tune, slow and haunting, played on the pretty sounds of a violin. It reminds me of when I was younger, when my father had been more kind and loving, before the Order had fully corrupted him. He had taught me how to play the violin and grand piano and I became quite good at both, although I had taken quite a liking to the piano. Although disappointing to my father, who was a violinist more than a pianist, he still helped me with my music and taught me until I had to learn..._other subjects. _The familiarity of the notes somehow haunted me but then I realized exactly what it was.

Papa stands on the deck, with his back to me, gently playing the aged violin. He hardly notices anything, not the wind, nor the gentle rocking motion of the ship as it sits anchored to the ocean floor. I don't know why we are not sailing but I honestly couldn't care less. I'm too tired and frightened to really care about much right now.

"Practicing old habits, are we?" I said, my voice only just audible over the sound of the violin.

Papa barely even flinches at the sound of my voice and he only pauses for a brief second before he resumes playing again. I never could startle him like that.

"So Sleeping Beauty has awakened, I see?" He said with no humor in his voice at all, making the sarcasm a little dry.

I smile weakly then walk around to face him, "I'm more of a Sleeping Horror these days. Although, sleep doesn't exactly come easy when you have to kill people for a living."

Papa shrugs, his blue eyes looking almost black in the dim candlelight. "You find ways to distract yourself. As you get older, those things hardly bother you anymore."

The emotionless tone to his voice almost scares me but then I remember who he is and that fear is crushed by indifference. I turn my gaze from my father to the ocean, leaning against the rail with my back to Papa. He doesn't notice, like usual;, and still continues playing.

"So what _are _you doing up?" Papa asked, finally some life evident in his voice, "I thought you'd be with Connor or sleeping or with Connor doing certain..._things." _

I scoff at his remark, running a hand through my mangled hair, "My love life is none of your concern, Papa. You don't own me anymore, so I can sleep with whoever I want."

"Oh I know that but you didn't actually answer my question. You actually side-stepped it but I suspect there's a reason for that."

"Reason being?"

"Well, either you're just being plain rude and spiteful to me, as per usual or you're hiding something from me that's obviously bothering you. And also I am amusing that you didn't just come out on deck for the express purpose of see me."

I chuckle softly, remembering how observant Papa could be when he wanted to be. I rub my tired and red eyes, taking another deep breath to try and stop myself from shaking.

"I had a bad dream. A nightmare, if you will," I muttered in reply to his question, my nails digging into the hard wood of the ships railing as I recall the memory of the nightmare, "Do you ever get those? Nightmares, I mean."

Suddenly the somber sound of the violin stops and I hear Papa sigh, "Yes. I get nightmares. Every time I close my eyes, I get them."

"What...What are they about?"

There's silence for a few seconds before I hear a reply, "Your mother. And how I let her down. The Order. Lucy. _You _on occasion. Any mistake that I've ever made just...seems to haunt me, I guess."

"H-How...How did you let Mama down?" I asked, Mama's name tasting like acid in my mouth.

I turn my head to see my father's expression but instead I meet his clear baby blue eyes, the clarity in those eyes sending shivers down my spine. He clenches his jaw before answering me, his mouth set in an emotionless line.

"I let her die," He whispered, his tone leaving no room for any more questions on the subject.

There's an uncomfortable silence for a little while, the heavy feeling of that silence making my hands shake again. I search for new course of conversation, since this is obviously going nowhere. Luckily, it's literally in Papa's hands.

"Is that...my violin?" I asked, staring at the rose wood violin that I remember practicing with as a child.

I remember how big it felt in my arms when Papa had first handed it to me, how clunky and heavy it was. Papa had told me that I would get used to the wait but for the first few days of playing, I had complained the whole time because it was so heavy. But then, one day, it just wasn't as heavy anymore and I had no more reason to complain.

Papa looks down at the instrument and smiles cheekily, "Yes, actually. I...I never could throw this away. You still remember how to play?"

"A little. It's been years since I've practiced. Years since I've even touched one."

"How about piano?"

"Oh, I've played that. Never stopped really. It's like drawing and painting, it's...second-nature."

"Well, let's test that theory, shall we?"

Papa holds out the violin and his bow, a small smile on his face. What I said was true. I haven't touched a violin in years but what I said about my skill was false. I remember quite a great deal of the pieces my father had taught me and even a few of the pieces I had created myself. But I didn't want to give my father the satisfaction of knowing that something he taught me stuck in my brain so well.

I reluctantly take the violin in my right hand and the bow in my left. There's a feeling of familiarity as I tuck the body of the violin under my chin and raise it, the feeling of the strings on my fingertips as I find the cord. It all feels startlingly familiar but for the first time, something familiar doesn't scare me so bad.

Slowly, I begin to play. The tune is slow at first and it take me a few seconds to get used to finding the cords again but it doesn't take long to get the hang of it. Before I know it, I'm playing a fast and happy tune, something I remember playing when I began to become more skilled. I close my eyes, losing myself in the music. But as I continue playing, I can feel the strings cut my fingers and I abruptly stop, cursing myself.

"Don't remember much, huh?" Papa said mockingly, taking the violin from my hands, "You remembered enough to make your fingers bleed from playing so much."

"I remember having to clean my strings constantly because of it," I muttered, watching the crimson red blood seep from my fingertips.

"Mm...you alright?"

"Yes...no...maybe. Who knows?"

"They're just some cuts, Sydney-"

"I'm not talking about my cuts, Papa," I snapped, turning my back to him again, "I...I feel like I'm losing my mind. Everything I've done in the last what, four...three years? It's all been so exhausting and...draining. I've gone against all the ideals and morals I've ever known. I've done things I once would never have done. And the only thing holding me to this earth, the only thing really keeping me from completely losing myself...is Connor. As much as I hate to admit it, I trust him and I feel like if I lose him..."

"You'll lose yourself," Papa whispered as he came and stood beside me, "You'll be alright, Sydney. You've always done good on your own and Connor knows how to take care of himself. Besides...you've always been slightly unstable."

"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence."

Papa sighs and turns his gaze to me, "You _will _be alright, Sydney. I can promise you that much."

"How do you know? I could die at any second but you wouldn't know which second it would be. So tell me...how do you know?"

There's a slight pause before he answers me but his answer is something I would not have expected. "I know because I didn't raise you to lay down your arms and give in."

* * *

"How far behind are we? Church couldn't have gotten that much of a jump on us."

The warm wind blasts past, whipping the few escaping strands from my braid around my face as I stand beside Connor at the wheel. I've lost count of how many days at sea we have been, mainly because I had been too distracted to notice the days going by.

"He's probably days ahead of us by now," Haytham yelled over the wind, irritation clear in his voice.

"Have some faith, old man," I snapped, "Connor isn't as bad as you think when it comes to captaining a ship. I'd like to see you do any better."

"Lady Death is right," Mr Faulkner chuckled, his nickname for me always bringing a smile to my face, "The boy is yet to disappoint."

"Lady Death?" Papa said, obviously confused by my nickname.

"It's the crew's nickname for me," I said, "Apparently I'm a Death Dealer."

"You deal death to those who deserve it. And so you shall forever be, Lady Death."

I chuckle, fiddling with my braid as the ship sways in the wind. We go through the cliffs, everyone seems to be more tense. Either being so close to cliffs like this is dangerous for the ship and people are edgy or it's something else entirely. I don't know and i don't care. I just want this over with. Some things in this little escapade have just pushed things a little too far for me. I need to get home and talk things over with Lucy. I need to sort out my situation with Connor. I need to get away from my father, as I feel his very presence is sending me over the edge. But all in all, I just need to rest.

"Are you alright?" Connor asked, keeping his voice down so only I can hear him.

"Not really. I need to get home. It just feels so...wrong being around _them. _Like we're doing something completely insane."

"This will be done today."

"How do you know that? As far as I'm concerned, we're still pretty far behind Church."

"This _will _be done today, Sydney. I promise you."

"Huh...you're gonna pay if you break that promise."

"I am assuming I would not enjoy that punishment."

"Oh I can tell you right now that you would enjoy it immensely but you still haven't broken your promise, so you might never know."

There's a ruckus down on deck as we reach a more open space between the cliffs and I see that a man has spotted something on anchored to one side of the cliffs.

"Ship ho!" I hear one of the men shout and I follow the man's gaze to the ship he pointed at.

"Is it the Welcome?" Connor asked.

"Aye," Mr Faulkner replied, "And she's dropped anchor."

"Take us for a closer look, son," Haytham said, ignoring the sly look from me as he calls Connor 'son'.

"I wouldn't get your hopes up, boys," I said, "Even from here it looks as if no one's there."

"You just want to punish me regardless," Connor muttered, the comment making me smile.

As we get closer, it seems as though I was right. There is not a soul on the ship which most likely means there is not the cargo Connor and I wished for.

"It seems you were right Sydney," Papa said as he leaned over the edge of the railing the get a better look at the ship, "The ship has been abandoned. No men nor cargo. Seems we're all out of luck."

"Church always was a slippery little bastard," Haytham said to no one in particular.

In an instant the ruckus down on deck gets worse as a crew member yells out the words that mean battle, "Enemy ahead!"

"Shit," I snapped, "They're trying to get away!"

"After them!" Connor yelled, leaving room for a sarcastic comment.

"You're the one steering this bloody ship, Connor," I snapped, before vaulting over the stair rails and landing on deck, "Cannons at the ready!"

Men scurry around the deck, some helping with the sails and others following my orders, readying the cannons. It's chaos but somehow, organised chaos, as no one gets in anyone's way and everyone knows their place. The ship makes one violent turn and i curse loudly as I stumble to regain my balance.

"Could you be a little less violent, Connor?!" I yelled, pulling myself up onto the railing to get a better view of the enemy ship, "We need speed."

"Do you think I do not know that, Sydney?!" Connor yelled back, his frustration equaling mine.

After sailing through a dangerous maze of rocks, the enemy ship passes through two cliff faces, the space too narrow for the Aquila to follow. I can hear Haytham and Connor arguing above me but I zone it out, trying to help the men as best I can. As we clear the tight space and sail into an open space, we are ambushed by the enemy ship's escort.

Cannons are fired on the enemy ships and I end up ducking for cover as cannon balls zoom narrow past my head.

"Fire all port side cannons," I yelled, my order followed by a deafening sound of cannon fire, "Return fire. Give the bastards everything you've got!"

"Sydney!" I hear Connor yell, catching my attention, "We need the Man-Of-War afloat. Whatever you do, do not let it sink."

"You're putting me in a tight position here, Corporal," I snapped back at him, swerving out of the way of a cannonball as it narrowly misses hitting my shoulder.

"Keep it afloat!" Connor repeated himself before going back to barking orders at everyone else.

I groan and get back to work, obeying his wishes to keep the main enemy ship afloat. Doesn't mean I couldn't put a few wholes in her though.

"Switch to chain shot!" I barked at the men, "Get rid of her mast. Don't let the ship escape."

"Aye, my lady," The men respond in unison.

Somehow I manage a smile. _'My lady'. Seriously boys? I couldn't be a lady even if I tried._ As we destroy the escort, the Man-Of-War is left vulnerable and open for us to board. The chain shot had worked well and the main mast had been brought down. They weren't going anywhere in a hurry. _  
_

All of a sudden the ship takes yet another sharp turn and I collide with the side railing, hitting my hip painfully hard. I look over to yell at Connor for sailing so recklessly but instead of seeing Connor, I see Haytham at the wheel. I already know this is not good.

"Prepare to board!" I yelled, pulling myself to my feet and sprinting up to Haytham, "What the hell are you doing? Are you trying to get us all killed?"

"I am ending this!" Haytham snarled, finishing his sentence just as we hit the Man-Of-War with insane force.

I stumble back, almost colliding with Connor at the same time. I regain my balance before him, just as Papa and Haytham jump over the railing and onto the Man-Of-War. I groan and follow them before Connor can say otherwise.

I climb up onto the deck, quickly muttering a battle prayer just as my feet hit the floor. I am instantly brought into a battle stance as an officer comes charging, sword in hand. I swerve out of the way as he slashes down, punching him in the jaw as a counter attack and snatching the sword from his hand before he can attack me again. Just for the sake of poetic justice, I shove the sword into his chest before kicking him away.

I have no chance to look back. I retrace the Templars steps and try to get below deck. But the door is jammed, I am not strong enough to kick it down. I have no time to dwell on the matter as more men come charging at me, intent on killing.

Luckily, solider's bark's are always worse than their bites. I kill them all easily and by the time Connor arrives, I've cleared out most of them in the area myself.

"We need to get below deck," I snapped, tugging Connor toward the door, "But unfortunately, I'm not exactly inclined to kick down the door."

Connor rolls his eyes and does as I ask, kicking down the door with hardly any effort. We make our way below deck, only to find that the cargo isn't even there.

"There better be a good excuse for this," I sighed, "Let's get through quickly. Papa is quite adapt with forms of torture and I am almost positive that he's going to unleash them on Church."

I hear yelling from deeper inside the deck and I can only just tell the difference between Haytham and Papa's yelling and Church's screams of pain.

"_Oh, pour l'amour du christ," _I muttered as I break out into a run toward the sounds of screaming.

I barge my way into the room when the screams are centred, shoving my father away from the rather injured Church. Haytham hardly notices and continues to pound Church with punches.

"Enough," Connor said behind me, making Haytham simply pause to answer, "We are here for a reason."

"Different reasons it seems," Haytham growled, giving Church one last punch before letting Connor at him.

I step back and let Connor handle the mess of a man on the floor. I go back up to the upper decks and breathe in the fresh Caribbean air. A small smile creeps onto my face as I pull back my hood.

"What are you smiling about?"

Papa's voice only makes me smile a little wider, as if I were a little girl again, the little girl who would run to him at the sound of his voice. I turn to face him, the smile still spread across my face.

"Well, I'm going home for starters," I said, "But I just worked something out."

Papa gives me a curious look, his baby blue eyes suspicious, "What did I do?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

For the first time in years, I reach out and hug my father. And even though I thought it would feel wrong and terrible, it felt...right. Papa is surprised at first but after a few seconds, he wraps his arms around my torso and hugs me back.

"I'm sorry," Papa whispered, burying his face in my shoulder, "I'm so sorry-"

"Shhh," I cooed, feeling tears brim my eyes, "I don't want to remember. I want to start over."

"Why?...Why do you even think I deserve it?"

"Because...I'm not going be responsible for another death of a person I love."

* * *

**Heeey everyone.**

**I am seriously going overboard with these chapters now. The last two have been about 4 thousands words long and that's pretty damn long for me. You guys better be happy with me...or don't however you see it. R&R or do whatever you usually do but I do appreciate the reviews. Like reeeeeeally appreciate. (Take the hint, take the hint!) Before you all leave, I just want to ask a question. Is there anything you guys want to know about Sydney that I haven't actually mentioned in the story? I don't actually mind doing a bit of trivia about her and if there's anything you guys want to know you can just ask.**

**(No that was not a bribe to write reviews. Or maybe it was but you'll never know *evil smile*)**

**Okay I'm off. Bye :p**


	20. Chapter 19: Settling Differences

**Warning, there is a sexy time scene at the end of this chapter. Don't like it, don't read. For everyone else, enjoy ;)**

* * *

Chapter 19:

Settling Differences

* * *

"What if-"

"Oh calm down Connor. Achilles isn't going to snap at you. He's not like you."

Connor gives me a curious look, "What do you mean?"

"He's not short-tempered," I said, running a hand through my hair, "Or ever so ignorant."

"Are you trying to insult me or give advice?"

"A bit of both. Look, Connor, Achilles is a mildly forgiving person and he has a soft spot when it comes to you. I'm almost positive he would have forgiven you by now. Besides, why would you ask me? I have not known him for as long as you have. Surely, you should know him better."

"I needed reassurance but I suppose what you say is true. But that...is not exactly what I intended to ask you."

Putting a hand to my mother's locket that still remains clasped around my neck, I shake my head. I should have known Connor would ask about my rather scarcely patched up relationship with my father. It had been strange at first, talking with Papa and opening up to him like I have not done since I was six years of age. We had talked of home, of Papa's visits to Grandmother in Berlin, of my training with Achilles, of Lucy's recruitment with her village and her old friends and even more interestingly, my on and off love affair with Connor. Papa had been sympathetic to my situation, if not appalled and slightly amused by our..._one..._night together. We had departed on good terms, although like everyone I know, I regarded him with suspicion. Even if we have settled our differences, I still do not trust him._  
_

I fiddle with Papa's gold wedding ring, which now rests on the chain with Mama's locket. A gift he had said, just in case the Templar Order did not take too kindly to Haytham and his own betrayal. I took it graciously, although I knew his worries were not sound. The Templars would not waste precious time, money and resources to replace a Grand Master and a key informant and supervisor. But still, I had appreciated the gesture and I hung it around my neck as a reminder of his change of heart. And my suspicions of him.

"Alright Connor," I sighed, avoiding Connor's gaze, "What do you want to know?"

"What happened between you two?" He asked, getting straight to the point, "From what you told me, you've hated him since you were a child-"

"You misinterpret me, Connor," I snapped, "I had loved him once and trusted him as well. I was a child after all. What child does not love their parents unconditionally? But things went wrong and so I soured."

"And so, now you trust him as you once did?"

"No. Certainly not. You should know I do not trust easily, especially to those who have done me wrong. _Especially to my father. _Trust me a little more Connor, I know what I'm doing. Anyway...I don't love him as I did. I don't think I could ever love him the same way again. Some things can never really be forgiven."

"You said that once. And yet you changed your mind."

I roll my eyes, lowering my hand from my locket and punching Connor playfully in the shoulder, "You're so single-minded, Connor. It doesn't hurt to have some perspective."

"It might just get you killed," Connor replied, hardly any emotion in his voice.

"Oh don't start Connor. Don't think I don't know about you little plan to try and unite the Templars and Assassins. I am not a fool nor am I blind."

"Do you disagree? Or do you think the same?"

"It's a valid plan, _cherie_, but the only problem is that the Templars would never agree to such a union. No matter how ambitious you and your father are."

Connor sighs, accepting my point as we walk into the Homestead. Without warning, Connor snatches my wrist and swings me into a tree, my back gently hitting the trunk of the tree before Connor pins my arms to either side of my head.

"Couldn't wait until we got inside, could you?" I said playfully, raising my head so that our lips are barely millimeters apart.

"You are so immature," Connor chuckled, giving the insult no weight.

"Well, I would prefer if you kissed me instead asking questions. It would make me feel so much better."

Connor shakes his head, smiling softly as he obeys. He leans down and presses his lips to mine, loosening his hold on my wrists and letting me wrap my arms around his neck and hold him close. His lips melt into mine and I moan into his mouth, his hands gently holding my hips as I tangle my fingers in his hair. I hadn't realized how much I had missed this, this feeling of being so close to him, this feeling of an addictive euphoria that only Connor can cause. I guess that's how you feel when you're with someone you love.

After a while, Connor pulls away, although he still holds me in his arms.

"Feel better now?" I asked, tracing his jawline with my finger, "Because I sure do."

Connor chuckles, leaning his forehead against mine, "Yes...but you have to come and see Achilles with me."

"Hm..." I sighed, "Nothing is ever easy, is it?"

* * *

"Sydney!"

Lucy runs into my arms, her smile wider than I've ever seen it. She hugs me tight but then quickly pulls back and proceeds to bombard me with questions. "How was it? Did Father bother you? Did you and Connor finally make-up? Did-"

"Is this a greeting or an interrogation?" I asked, a hint of teasing in my voice, "Because I honestly think it is the latter."

"Oh hush now," A familiar voice behind me says, 'She only wishes to know how your trip went. A;though, I would not."

I abruptly turn and see Chelsea, her strawberry blonde curls tied back into a tight bun and her hands clasped tightly behind her back. She smiles at me and walks forward into my hug. I laugh into her ear, having not seen her in a long while it feels strange to be so close. I pull back and engage in feverish conversation with her.

"How are you?" I asked, "I'm assuming married life is treating you the same or am I missing something?"

"Yes, it's the same," Chelsea laughed before turning to a more serious note, "In fact, I...I have good news."

"What news?"

"Simon and I are...we are expecting a baby."

I gasp, staring open-mouthed at my friend, "About time, mind you. Well, how are you feeling? Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes, perfectly fine. More than fine really. I'm just a little nervous is all. And Simon couldn't be more excited and helpful. He's even proposed moving here, building an estate alongside yours."

"Well, that's a tad drastic but I certainly would love it. Have you asked Achilles about it?"

"No, we're still considering other options. The city isn't safe anymore, you realize, so we've been staying with Alise and David of late but...I think we might go through with it."

"I'm sure Achilles would agree. And Connor would not mind, he's quite fond of you actually so it wouldn't be too much trouble."

"Yes..but Connor isn't as fond of me as he is of _you." _

With an eye roll, Chelsea and I begin to walk around the village after I promised Lucy to talk with her later. She was not exactly happy but she knew I wanted to talk to my friend rather than her right now and she respected that enough to leave us be.

"It's strange," Chelsea said as we sit on the edge of the cliff over looking the ocean, "I never thought this far ahead. I have no idea whether or not I'm ready..."

I laugh and shake my head, "Good Lord, Chelsea, you'll never be ready. That's the point of being a first time parent. _To learn." _

"Oh and you know so much," Chelsea said sarcastically, "All you do is mess around with Connor and I _do not _mean that in the childish way."

"Oh, what we do is most _definitely _not suitable for children."

Chelsea scoffs at my remark but laughs with me anyway. It seems like it's been so long since we've talked like this, about current affairs and our friends. In a way it's pleasant, as it reminds me of my old life and the good memories I had of that life. But then again, I do not want to dwell on those memories, as they seem to bring out the bad ones.

Chelsea sighs, placing a hand over her abdomen as she stares absent-mindedly into the setting sun, "I think it'll be a girl. I don't know why I do...it's just a feeling I have."

"Must be true then," I chuckled, "Since your assumptions are almost always correct."

Chelsea ignores my sarcastic comment and continues to watch the sun set, "I think I'll name her after you. If it's a girl that is. I hope...I hope she could be as strong and loyal as you. That would be a good thing."

A subtle silence settles between us and together we sit there, watching the sun set over the horizon. But as the sun sinks into the water, I can't help but think about Chelsea's words.

_I hope she's as strong and loyal as you. _Strong? Loyal? I wish I had these qualities. Truth be told, I am as broken and weak as any other. I would not wish my past upon anyone and Chelsea's child is no different. I hope her child is the opposite of me. Small and delicate but strong-willed and smart. Ladylike and beautiful, not rude and unbecoming like me. But of course I could not say that to her. For Chelsea would deny it and defend my honor against my own better judgement but int the end...I know who I am. And I like the broken and shattered parts of me, the smart, charming and rude parts too. For I cannot change myself and I know that all too well.

But thankfully...my friends know that as well. And most of all...so does Connor.

* * *

_"Per crassum et tenues" _I whispered, my finger stopping on the words.

My book lays open on the sofa's surface, Lucy's head just below is as she sleeps peacefully, leaning against my body. For hours we had talked, of our father, of Benjamin Church and of so many other things. In between it all, she had fallen asleep and I had taken it upon myself to reread some of my mother's notes on my drawings. I forgot how poetic my mother was, inserting random poems or phrases into her advice, as she knew I did not read enough and this was the perfect opportunity to educate me.

The fire crackles loudly and I can still feel the heat radiating off it as it roars with life. It reminds me of the night I escaped my father's estate, my mother braiding my hair as Lucy slept in my lap. How long ago was that? Have long have I been this way, an Assassin and nothing else? It's been too long and not long enough at the same time. So much has happened and I cannot begin to remember every event that has happened. But still, little objects remind me of those events and so I am saved. But memories are all I have now of my mother, as she, like so many others, is gone.

I am surprised to find tears pricking the corners of my eyes and I hastily wipe them away, cursing myself for being to childish. Heavy footsteps along the floorboards cause me to lift my head and I see that Connor looms over me, a small smile on his face.

"How long have she been asleep?" He asked, not noticing my most-likely flushed face.

"A few hours. We talked for a while and then she fell asleep. I must have exhausted her, poor thing."

Connor chuckles before kneeling down to eye-level and reaching out to stroke Lucy's hair, his eyes avoiding my own as he gazes lovingly at Lucy.

"You should be her brother," I whispered, looking down at my sister with sadness, "I'm no good as a sister. All I have given her is pain and suffering. I only wish for her to be happy and yet..."

"Sydney, you are a wonderful sister," Connor replied, still not meeting her gaze, "Lucy is lucky to have you. You protect her and you love her. That is all she has ever wanted."

"But we...we _stole _her from her mother. Ripped her from her home and threw her into our society. She didn't deserve that. She deserved so much better..."

"She did not tell you of the life she had before she lived with you, did she?"

I flick my eyes toward him, a confused look striking my face. "What do you mean?"

Connor shakes his head, brushing a stray lock of Lucy's ebony hair behind her ear, "A story for another day and also, not my story to tell. We should get her to bed."

Leaving me hanging, I stare open-mouthed at him for a few seconds before nodding my head and replying, "Of course. Could you carry her up? Try not to wake her."

Connor nods and proceeds to silently and gently pick up Lucy, doing his best not to wake her. She stirs in his arms but then falls back to sleep, snuggling into Connor's chest and moaning sleepily. Connor leaves the room and I follow him, carrying my sketchbook with me as we move silently up the stairs and into Lucy's messy room. We settle her down and leave the room, barely a word passing between our lips as I close the door behind me.

The silence surrounding us feels as if it's suffocating me and I can stand it no longer. Just as Connor turns to leave, I reach out and grab his hand, forcing him to turn and look at me.

"Connor," I said quietly, moving closer to him until we are only millimeters apart, "Once...you said something to me. It was a word that I didn't understand. It was a word in your language and I would like to know what it means."

"Konnorónhkwa?" he said, blushing as soon as the word passed his lips.

"Yes, that's the one," I whispered, "Please...tell me...what does it mean?"

Connor reaches up and cups my cheek with one hand, to which I raise my hand up and cover his hand with my own. I sigh, leaning into his hand lightly and craving so much more of his touch.

"Do you really want to know?" Connor whispered, his words sounding shaky as if he's fighting something inside of him.

I open my eyes and look up at him, "Yes...why would I not?"

Time seemed to slow and I held my breathe as Connor looked deeply into my eyes, the fiery brown of his eyes seeming to burn into my own jade colored ones. With the amount of electricity crackling between us, I fell as if the whole corridor could explode. But with only a few words, Connor destroys my better judgment.

"I love you."

And with that, any walls remaining between us crumble and Connor crushes his lips against mine. There's a scramble to get into my room, but even as we barge into the room and Connor slams the door shut behind him, there is still a loud clatter as Connor hoists me up onto my desk and knocks over various things that I honestly could not care less about.

My heart races inside my chest and my skin burns like fire, the light dress I am wearing being far too much clothing for both Connor and I. Instead off fiddling with the laces of my dress, Connor pulls out a knife and cuts every single lace, leaving him simply with the task of tear the dress away, while he still remained fully clothed.

As he lathers my neck in feverish kisses and I moan loudly at the sensation, I cannot help but complain.

"You're paying for a new dress, Corporal," I gasped, hastily ridding him of his weapons and moving toward his shirt buttons, "And I would also prefer the bed, to my desk."

"All in due time," Connor whispered, his breathing just as ragged and heavy as mine.

I moan loudly as I feel Connor's hand slide up my thigh, only to grab my dagger hidden in my stockings and throw it at the wall. I hear it stick into the wall and I groan in annoyance, kicking Connor away playfully. "And now you're paying for my wall. On the bed now, Corporal. I'm sure you won't protest."

With one last half annoyed, half lust filled glance, Connor sits himself down on the edge of my bed, his eyes following me as I stalk over to him, standing with my legs either side of Connor's thighs as I gaze down at him.

"Well, Corporal, I'm going to let you decide," I said, my voice only just registering above a whisper, "What do you want me to do?"

Slowly, I lower myself into his lap, my hands wandering dangerously low. Connor can't seem to focus, groaning loudly and burying his face into my neck.

"Please...Sydney..." He stuttered, holding me as close as possible as he wraps his arms around my back, "Please-"

"Please what, Connor?" I said, hooking two fingers around the waistband of his trousers, "I need a proper answer, _cherie. _You're not exactly giving me one."

Connor whines breathlessly before giving me an answer, "Take off your clothes-"

"And let you do whatever you want with me? Well, I'll do the first one for you but the second...not so much. I'm in charge darling and there's not much you can do to stop me from getting what I want."

Connor rolls his eyes but goes along with my little game, "You are such a tease."

"I try," I said sweetly before stepping off him and pulling off my torn dress.

Connor stared lustily at my body, obviously not caring about some of the ugly scars that cover me. To him, I am perfect. To him, I am his. I trace the top of my underwear teasingly, not even looking up to see Connor's expression. _What a woman I have become. _

I slowly walk back to Connor, releasing my hair from it's braid and letting it fall free. Connor hardly hesitates, taking me into his lap without a second thought. He tangles his fingers in my hair and lightly kisses my bare shoulder, making my skin burn hotter than before.

"Connor..." I whimpered, clawing at his back as I try to contain some self control, "Clothes...off..."

"Sydney-"

"_Now." _

Without another word, Connor sighs and swings me around onto the bed. He pulls off his clothes as fast as humanly possible, making me giggle.

"Eager are we?" I muttered, not intending for Connor to hear me.

"More than you know," Connor replied, Climbing onto the bed and looming over me, "You would not believe how much I have missed you."

"I'll always be there for you, Connor. You just have to realize that I can overreact."

"Understatement," Connor chuckled, his hands slipping dangerously low to my hips.

I take my opportunity and flip us, my flirtatious mood coming back to me. Connor gasps as I do, my mild strength and speed bettering him ever so easily. Lightly tracing his scars on his shoulders, I smile seductively.

"I'm still in charge here, darling," I chuckled, grinding into him ever so slightly.

Connor groans in response, gripping my hips harder than before. I hadn't realized how shaky my hands had become as I slide them down to the top of Connor's trousers. _It's been far too long. _He shudders as I slip his trousers down, never letting my eyes stray from his as I leave him almost as bare as I. I hardly make a sound as I crawl up to him again, my face only inches away from his.

_"Que voulez-vous que je fasse, mon amour?" _I whispered, kissing him lightly on the lips.

Connor doesn't respond at first, simply capturing me in a deep kiss that could easily have swept me off my feet if I wasn't so stubborn. He glides his tongue along my bottom, asking politely for entrance. Just out of pure weakness, I grant him what he wants and I'm bitterly satisfied with the result as our tongues engage in a passionate dance that could have lasted the whole night. But as if it was revenge, Connor pulls away and lowers his kisses down to my neck, causing my already racing pulse to rise.

I thread my fingers through his hair, enjoying the sensation as Connor continues to kiss me lower and lower until he reaches the space between my breasts. I shiver as he kisses my sensitive skin, my fingernails digging into his scalp as I slowly fall into a small state of ecstasy. He holds me firm, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist so that I cannot escape. Not that I want to, mind you.

"I want you," Connor whispered, licking the space between my breasts to leave me shivering in response, "I do not deserve you...but that is what I want."

"No..." I managed to gasp, my voice seeming to fail me at this moment, "I don't deserve you, _mon sauveur. _You are far better than I deserve."

Connor lightly nips my feverish skin and I suck in a ragged breath, digging my fingernails into his scalp even more. Fighting for control of my mind, I fidget in Connor's arms, only causing Connor to bite me a little harder.

"Connor," I said, a tone of warning in my voice, "Please-"

"Please what?" He replied, a slightly victorious tone to his voice, "I thought I was the one who was going to be begging?"

I groan, a more agitated sound rather than a pleasured one, "I'm going to kick your ass tomorrow morning."

Connor chuckles before effortlessly flipping us over and ridding me of the rest of my clothing. My whole body shudders with excitement and I cannot hold back the loud moan that escapes my mouth. Connor muffles my moan with a kiss, his hands on my thighs as he wraps them around his waist. Another shudder of excitement overcomes my body and Connor wastes no time in entering me.

I throw my head back in ecstasy, nothing to muffle my scream of pleasure this time. The strange heat in my stomach grows stronger as Connor sets a slow pace, torturing me to the point of oblivion. No matter how much I whine and complain, Connor won't go any faster. But luckily, he's too distracted to notice me as I hook my legs around the back of his knees. With some effort, I flip us over, leaving me on top.

"Well," I said breathlessly, "That worked out just as I wanted, now didn't it?"

Connor growls in response, the growl turning into a soft moan as I raise myself on his length a little.

"Hush," I snapped, before turning to a sweet smile again, "I'll get what I want now."

Before Connor can object, I put one hand down on his chest, mainly to hold him down but also to brace myself, and the other hand goes up to the headboard. I begin to raise and lower myself onto his hardened length, increasing in speed as I get used to the motion. I moan loudly as the pleasure shows through again, making every muscle in my body shake.

Connor holds my hips tightly, guiding me up and down and giving me extra strength to go faster. He groans as I get into a steady rhythm, his hands gripping my hips so hard I'm sure he'll leave marks. This feeling, this feeling of reaching for release and finding nothing, continues to tease me and I whimper as my body senses how close to oblivion I am. The heat inside my stomach continues to torture me but every time I reach for that sweet release, like water, it slips through my fingers and I cannot seem to grasp it.

Connor must be getting close to an end as well, as he somewhat forces me to bounce on his length even harder and faster. He groans in response, arching himself into me and causing a gasp of pleasure to escape my mouth. It's becoming too much to take, this tortuous pleasure that seems to be all I can think of right now.

"Connor," I whimpered breathlessly, "I-I...I'm close...oh God..._ciel sauve-moi."_

Connor mutters something in Mohawk before flipping us over, yet again, and taking the lead. He pounds into me, loud moans leaving my mouth with every thrust. I can feel myself reaching the edge and my moans of pleasure get louder and louder as the seconds pass by.

Then with one more hard thrust, I fall head first into pure ecstasy. Connor rides out my orgasm, finding his own only a few seconds later. I hardly remember anything after that. The only clear memory after that passionate experience is the feeling of falling asleep in Connor's arms.

* * *

**Well, I finally found the time to finish this chapter. School has finally begun to cool down on the assignments with the end of the term coming up, (Thank God, is all I can say), so the chapters may or may not be coming up faster. I'll have to see with summer season in swimming coming up and my training will probably intensify for that, so just be patient if these chapters take longer to come out. **

**GreyJedi1- Sydney's 20 years old going on 21. Don't worry even I lose track on her age sometimes. the timeline of Assassin's creed is a bit hard to follow, so I have to make estimates. **

**If there's anything you want to know about Sydney, or any of the characters I've put in, just ask. This story isn't confusing to me because I'm the writer (duh) but if there's anything you guys don't understand or want to know, I'm willing to tell. Sorry if it is a bit confusing though.**

**Thanks for all the reviews and the support, it means a lot. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'll try and get the next one up as quickly as I can. I'll probably start writing it now, since I have nothing better to do. **

**Anyway, see you guys later :p.**


	21. Chapter 20: Terrible Coincidence

Chapter 20:

Terrible Coincidence

* * *

"Wake up, Corporal. Things to see, people to kill."

Connor groans, burying his face in his pillow, "Since when did you become an early riser?"

I laugh, my position of straddling him giving me the upper hand, "Since we have to be in New York by tomorrow. And it's nine in the morning. I'm usually up by now. _You _most definitely, should be up by now."

"You are not even dressed yet, Sydney."

"I'm halfway dressed. And besides, at least I'm out of bed. You seem to be on a lazy streak this morning."

"Well, maybe if you get off me, I could get up."

I laugh softly, leaning down and kissing Connor as he turns his head to look at me. It's slow and soft, nothing like the kisses from last night that were hungry and passionate. It's better that way, since I really shouldn't be distracting myself with him. But I let myself enjoy this little pleasure, since I most definitely will not be able to do anything with him when we're with our Templar fathers.

I pull away and sigh, leaning my forehead against his, "Come on. Now we really have to go."

I stand on the bed, making me many feet taller than Connor at the moment, and jump down onto the floor, where I begin to search the room for my Assassin's gear. All my clothes are scattered around the room, which is strangely unlike me, as I often keep my room as neat as possible. _Old habits die hard, I guess? _So far I've only manged to find my shirt and underwear, which I am currently wearing, but everything else seems to be hiding in my mess of a room.

"Good Lord, I need to clean up this place," I muttered to myself, throwing my trousers over the end of the bed where I know I can find it.

"Have you found any of my things?" Connor asked, the sound of rustling sheets telling me that he's finally decided to wake up.

"Look for them yourself, Corporal. I'm not your maid."

I hear Connor sigh before muttering something under his breath that I couldn't quite understand. I simply roll my eyes and continue my search for my clothes. Eventually I find everything and I find myself sitting at my dressing table, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

I can't remember the last time I actually looked at myself in the mirror. It's strange, to say the least. My hair is darker than I remember, taking on more of blackish tone of brown rather than the chocolate tone I'm used to. My skin seems to have tanned a little, a small ounce of color coating the near white pale skin beneath. My eyes are the only thing that do not seem to have changed, the jade tone of green in my eyes being the only thing that exactly resembles my mother. It's strangely unsettling but I can't help but stare at myself in the mirror as I braid my hair over one shoulder.

"Admiring yourself?" Connor asked, his eyes meeting mine through the mirror.

"In a way," I replied, "I...I haven't actually looked at my own face in a while. It's strange...I look nothing like my mother."

"Father said you look like her," Connor answered, surprising me with the mentioning of his father, "He said that you have her eyes. He says you are just as beautiful as her, if not even more beautiful."

I shake my head, anxiously fiddling with the end of my braid, "My mother was stunning, even when she was older. She would have made any man faint at the sight of her in her younger years."

"How old was she when she gave birth to you?"

"Twenty. She married young."

"Because she was in a Templar family?"

A faint smile spreads across my face, "She fell in love. Believe it or not, she did love my father once. Loved him so much it hurt. He was like Michael, her betrothed from a young age. Her family knew they were marrying her into a Templar family. _They wanted it. _They believed she would be safe with him. But all good things end and my mother learnt that the hard way."

"How?"

"I was five. I was...a curious child. Curious but shy and quiet. I could never really explain myself if I got into trouble because I was so shy. One day, I found my way into my father's office, looking for him as Mama had been busy and i wanted someone to play with. On my father's desk, I found a knife...a knife soaked in blood. I didn't know what it was and like I said, I was a curious child. I picked up the knife, just as my father walked into the room. He...He hit me. Slapped me across the cheek. He yelled at me to leave and never come into his office again. I had a bruise for a few weeks. That was when my mother got her first taste of my father's brutality."

A slight shiver runs down my spine at the memory. It reminds me of my mother, which is more painful than I realized, and my father as well. It reminded me of the things he's done. The reasons I shouldn't trust him. A hand goes the his wedding ring around my neck, the gift he gave me so graciously. There really isn't anything I can avoid. My father is not to be trusted. At least, not until he fully proves himself as a changed man._  
_

No. Until that time, I must stay on my guard. As I always have.

* * *

"You are quite awfully quiet."

Connor's voice makes me jump but I retain myself, simply gasping in surprise. I hadn't realized I was being quiet. I was just thinking of so many things at once that I didn't have time to talk. For some reason, I can't shake the nervousness plaguing my muscles as we walk through New York. Seeing my father again, even the thought of it, has somehow made me restless. My hands are clenched so tightly into fists, if I wasn't wearing gloves, my nails would cut into my skin. I don't know what's come over me. I was fine before this, what's gone wrong?

A shiver runs up my spine and I shake the worrying thoughts from my mind. I turn my gaze to Connor, who looks down at me with concern. Even under his hood, I can see the frown lines forming on his forehead. Out of pure instinct, I smile and shake my head, his frown somehow pushing my nervous feelings even further behind me.

"What have I said about frowning Connor?" I giggled, "I'm quite sure you've forgotten."

"My face is neither pretty nor creased with lines, Sydney," Connor said defensively.

"Are you sure about that? I could prove you very much wrong."

Connor rolls his eyes, "Of course you can. Do you want to find your father and I shall find my own?"

"Alright. I'll go to him."

"Do you know where he is?"

A devilish smile crosses my face as I turn my eyes to the not-so-subtle whore house a few meters away from us. The women brandish their bodies on display, their tight fitting dresses and painted faces already making them overly suspicious. I can hear their accents from here and the majority of them are French, just like my father likes. I also know, he never likes them cheap.

"Are you sure he is there?" Connor said, staring at the women with more pity than disgust like myself.

"Positive. Papa never liked cheap prostitutes nor did he ever like British ones. French, tall, brunette and green eyed. Just like Mama."

I hear Connor scoff at me but I ignore him, already making my way toward the brothel. I pull down my hood as I reach the entrance, earning many wanting stares from the men and more jealous glares and dirty looks from the whores. They don't really bother me, since I'm used to the looks and glares from my time living in Paris. There was a brothel every two steps there and women often stared at me with jealousy as I walked by. It was not news to me.

The brothel was extravagant, with expensive high backed sofas with lounging men reclining on them, three or more half naked women surrounding them whilst laughing and flirting with them. The blood red wallpaper was distracting, erotic art covering certain patches of the wall and fitting perfectly with the sleazy scene. The bar stunk of stale alcohol and opium, not that it bothered the men sitting at the bar stools, drinking there troubles away. A staircase sat on the other side of the room, most likely leading to the rooms where the women pleasured their clients. I hated to think about it but I know this is what these women do to make money and if that's what they have to do, it was none of my business. Unless, of course, one of these lovely girls were fucking my father. Now, that is information I could use.

I push my way through the guards at the base of the staircase and begin to make my way up to stairs, surprisingly not being follow. _Must have thought I was one of the girls. _An older women, about forty or fifty, sits behind a desk with a records book sitting in front of her. I know the book is used to keep record of the day's earnings and no doubt also holds room numbers and names of clients.

The women's head shoots up as soon as I get close, her tired gray eyes flashing with fear. She has white skin like mine, telling me she's most definitely British, and has dull brown hair that matches the colour of dead leaves. She begins to shake at the sight of me, no doubt my father warned her about me before he went into a room filled to the brim with sleazy pleasure.

"Steven Mathews, what room is he in?" I snapped, my mouth set in a frown.

The woman stutters, her mouth not forming proper words as she shakes her head. A frustrated sigh leaves my mouth and I swiftly pull out a knife and slam it down onto the desk. The handle of the bade sticks out just a few millimeters away from where her hands rest and she instantly jerks them back, whimpering childishly.

"I am running out of patience," I growled, showing my annoyance, "And you're not gonna like it when I get impatient. So, I ask again. Where is my father?"

The women shakes uncontrollably now, but pushes the records book forward and points a shaky finger at one of the columns.

"Room Five," She whimpered, "At the end of the hall."

Just to mess with her, I put on a sweet smile and stand up straight, taking my knife back with me.

"Thank you," I said politely, before making my way down the hall.

It doesn't take much to find the room. I can already hear loud moans and gasp coming from inside but I fight back the urge to vomit at the sound and kick down the door in one swift kick. I hear a girl scream inside and I avert my gaze from the girl as she darts to the corner of the room, behind a dressing screen. Papa chuckles softly as he sits up in bed, the sheets thankfully covering the parts of his body I _never _want to see.

"Do you always choose the most expensive sluts in the room?" I said, "I saw how much your whore cost. That's ten shillings you could use for a lot more than sex."

"Well, some of us aren't as proud as you," Papa snapped, "What are you doing here?"

"Connor wanted to come back and talk with Haytham but I thought that I should come along."

"So you were budding in?"

"Pretty much."

Papa shakes his head and runs a hand through his slick black hair, "Can you leave me be for another hour or two and I'll be with you?"

"Half an hour, " I said sternly, "And if I don't see you with Haytham after that, I'll come looking for you and I may not be as polite as I was now."

"You kicked down the door and yelled at my company, and now you're saying that you were being polite?"

"Yes. Now hurry up. I'm not really patient, you know."

Without another word, I turn on my heel and leave the room. The murmurs and whispers increase as I walk through the bar, but I ignore them, racing out of that place as fast as I could. Something about that place was getting under my skin, making me feel the urge to faint or scream just to distract myself. I might be used to being around brothels but I never got used to the sleazy, sick feeling that seemed to cling to the places.

I quickly pull my hood back up and proceed through the city at a brisk pace, hardly noticing that someone was following me. I didn't even know until he snatched me.

Just as I was about to turn a corner and find Connor, the man who had been following me snatched me from behind, one hand covering my mouth and the other yanking my arms behind my back as he drags me back into the alley. The man is remarkably strong and I can't seem to shake him off no matter what I do. I can't yell out, as he hand firmly covers my mouth, so all I hear are pathetic whimpers.

_Who is this? Some creep from the brothel? _When the man speaks, my question is answered almost immediately.

"Not as dead as you thought I was, huh?" Michael hissed into my ear, his voice sending shivers down my spine.

_No. He's dead. I know he's dead. I shot him. In the chest. I know he's dead. I looked back...but wait. I didn't look back. I just got out of there as fast as I could. I never looked back. Oh God..._

"Your shot went flying, Sid," Michael chuckled into my ear, bitter hate lacing his words, "I could have given you everything, you know? I could have given you a comfortable home, children and protection. I could have loved you like I always have. But obviously, you don't want that. You'd rather have some filthy savage fuck you at night than me. And I can admit, I do deserve it a little. I was a bit of an ass, trying to convince you to do things that you didn't want to do when you were younger. But now...well...I don't even think I'll bother trying to convince you."

Pure and utter fear shoots through me at his words and I can't stop myself from shaking uncontrollably. Michael laughs darkly, just as tears begin to brim my eyes. How could this happen? I was so sure I had shot him. So sure, he was gone forever. But obviously...I was wrong.

"This is going to be fun," Michael said to himself, just as he wrapped two hands around my throat and choked me until I passed out.

The last thing I heard before I fell into darkness was Michael's cruel laugh, haunting my very soul, just as it always has.

* * *

Steven's P.O.V

* * *

Being ordered around by your eldest daughter is not exactly what I thought I would be doing in my old age. I've always known Sydney has issues with authority. She's had problem since age three and there was never anything that myself or her mother could do about it. It was my side of the family, the arrogance and sarcastic attitude. I had hoped that my first child wouldn't have been that way but unfortunately, I was out of luck. With Lucy, she got most of her mother's side of things, which was a blessing and a curse at the same time. She was impressionable, unlike Sydney, who was too poisoned by Celeste's ways to be the Templar I wanted her to be. But Celeste kept the girl away from me and I was unable to train Lucy the way I wanted to. So all in all, my daughters hate me and I got my wife killed. Not bad for my lifetime.

The night air whips at my face, sending a shiver down my spine. The sun has only just set and there's still some light in the sky, although that light is quite minimal. I head toward Fort George, since that is where I suspect Haytham and Connor will go after I saw them capturing Loyalist commanders and dragging them off into the night. I did not see Sydney with them, which seemed a little off but I can only guess that she's with them.

Rain begins to drizzle down out of the sky and I roll my eyes at the dull weather change. I've always hated America, with it's consistently confusing weather changes and overplayed politicians. Berlin has always been home to me, even Londonw as more of a home than this. Being born of a German father and English mother, I often found myself bouncing back and forth from the cities, considering that both my parents seemed to always lived apart. Being the eldest son, I was also entitled to look after my younger siblings, that being my sisters Genevieve and Karoline. I honestly have no idea where they are now, most likely bathed in their husbands riches and watching their children grow up. They never had to suffer any physical or mental pain, of course not. Young women were not meant to be exposed to such atrocities as I have seen. It is the curse of our society. Women are always tbought of as weak and fragile, when in reality they could be stronger than any man. It was just the way the world saw them.

As I reach the entrance of the Fort, Connor and Haytham have already begun to make their way out. Connor, beneath his hood, has a rather unamused look on his face and he scowls at something that Haytham must have said. _Hm, _I think, _Well, I know why Sydney likes him now. He hates his father as much as she hates me. _

Haytham trails behind, looking completely emotionless. I suspect they fought about something, as they always do, but I hardly know what is was they fought over and to be perfectly honest, I couldn't care less. There's something missing about this image and I don't exactly know what it is.

But of course, a parent always knows.

As Connor passes me, I snatch his forearm and hold himself still as a mixture of anger and fear races through my veins.

"Where is Sydney?" I said quietly, so quietly I thought for a second he didn't hear me.

"She is meant to be with you," Connor snapped, his brown eyes flaring with anger.

But as he realises the obvious, the obvious being that Sydney is most definitely not with me, that anger is replaced with fear. He quickly rips his arm from my grasp and turns to his father, most likely to yell at him or blame him.

I hardly hear them as they argue and shout at each other. One thing sticks in my mind; Sydney is missing and we have no clue where she's gone. It's not like her to run off without telling someone, well now that I think about it, it is like her but she most certainly wouldn't leave Connor behind. Not with what's been going on between them.

And then I remember. Michael.

_"I'll kill her for what she did," _Michael had said before he left my residence, _"I'll make her scream for weeks on end and then I kill her to end her misery. She's a slut and a coward, who dared to try and kill me. Next time, she's out alone, that'll be the last time she's free." _

"Fuck," I swore silently, cursing myself for not leaving with her.

I won't let her die. She may hate me and I may just hate her a little as well, but she's my daughter and I promised myself I would take care of my family even if it meant hurting them.

I promised Celeste I would protect. That was the one thing I promised her before she died. I never thought I would break that promise. I guess I was wrong.

* * *

**Ooooookay, finally finished this chapter.**

**Yes, I know it took me over two weeks. I'm sorry. But last two weeks of school were hectic and I really didn't have time to write a fanfic in between an English assignment, Maths assignment, swim training, homework and reading all my lovely new books. I was planning to finish this on Saturday but I kinda had my birthday thing at the movies and it was really late so I couldn't finish it. But it's finished now and that's how it's going to be. Btw, my birthday's not till next week. I just had my birthday party, outing, whatever you wanna call it, on Saturday because all my friends were going away from the holidays. **

**So *little voice in my head takes a deep breath* How was that? Michael isn't so dead after all *evil smile*. Please R&R and tell me how things are. It really goes a long way since I am constantly having to cut back on things just so I can write this story. And again, if you have any questions ask away, I'll answer most things (just depends on the question). **

**Now, I actually need to ask you guys a question because it's been bugging me for ages now. What do you guys think of Sydney? I really don't know what many of you think of her, (considering that people have followed my story, I'm guessing some people like her) and if you could tell me that would be great.**

**Okay, I better go now. Wow, that was a long A.N. My fingers are getting kinda sore. So please R&R and excuse my late updating time. I now have The Fault In Our Stars to read (I'm gonna cry) and you guys have reviewing, reading or other stuff to do. Bye! **


	22. Chapter 21: Prayers for Help

Chapter 21:

Prayers for Help

* * *

Pain. I know the word better than most. I've known emotional pain, like when I battled my feelings for Connor on a daily basis. I've known mental pain, like when I had my mother killed right before my eyes. And I have experienced enough physical pain for four lifetimes over. But I have _never _experienced all three kinds of pain at once.

The cell I sit in is dark and cold, although I find it cold because of my lack of clothing that Michael seemed to have left me with. He has beaten me already, quite severely actually. In the cracked mirror on the wall, I can see the purple bruises on my face and when I look down at my arms and legs, I see a gruesome rainbow of colour running along them. It makes me sick to think of what he's doing, keeping me here like a caged and obedient animal. Thankfully, he hasn't tried anything yet, although I have not ruled out the possibility of rape. Michael always wanted me and so now that he has me broken and weak, he could easily take advantage of me.

I have no strength and my mind is tired. I have tried to force myself to sleep but it hasn't worked at all, only making me more tired and weak. I know I can't overthrow Michael. He's just as quick as me and twice as strong. Even at my best, he would be a difficult opponent. Here and now, when I am hungry, weak and tired, I would last two seconds in a fight. I can only hope and pray that Connor will come for me. Hell, even if Papa came for me, I'd be ecstatic.

Shivering, I pull my shirt tight around myself, the thin material providing no warmth to my body as cold wind blows in through the bared high window. I don't know how long I'll be able to live through this. I've known fear before, but never this kind of fear. The kind of fear that eats away at your soul until there's nothing left of you but the fear itself. Every draft, every sound, every breathe that isn't my own, seems to scare me to the point of tears. I guess I have reason to be scared but I don't want to be this way. I want to be free and safe. I want to be home. I want Michael _dead._

The cellar door opens and I cower back into my corner, shaking as my stomach twists into a tight knot of fear. _Breathe, Sydney, breathe. In, out, in, out. _Michael walks casually down the stone steps, his very presence causing my heart to race and my muscles to shake. I can't seem to calm myself down enough but I try as hard as I can, keeping my eyes glued to Michael. I can only hope he takes my staring as fear and not a challenge.

Michael drags a chair from the table that is set with various torture items that haunt my dreams and sets in down onto in front of the cell. Even in the dark, I can see Michael's platinum blonde hair shining in the dark. I remember a time when I used to run my fingers through that hair as he held me. Now, I would cringe in his arms and break his nose if I could. But of course, I am far too weak to do anything like that.

Michael sits himself down and stares at me, his haunting gaze settling on me. "You alright, Sydney? You look cold, love. Maybe I could help you with that."

In between my fear, I manage to snap back at him. "Fuck you, you sadistic little shit!"

"Oh, how you break my heart," Michael said, faking hurt in his voice. "You do know you can't hurt me, love? I've always been rather thick skinned when it comes to your remarks."

"Yes, well, I've always been thick skinned when it comes to your advances, bastard. But when you sneak up behind a woman, grab her, knock her out and lock her in a cell, it's just a little hard to deny your advances."

Michael laughs, a cold, heartless sound that sends shivers down my spine. This is not the Michael I used to know. It's not even the Michael I killed. This is something different, something even more sinister and deadly. This Michael would kill me without a second thought.

"What do you want from me?" I whimpered, hugging my legs close to my chest, "If you're here just to talk and tease me, you're wasting your time."

"Oh I'm just buttering you up, Sydney," Michael replied, "Soon...things will get interesting."

Without warning, Michael stands from his chair, unlocks the cell door and barges in, snatching my wrist and hauling me to my feet. I try to fight him, only to get back-handed to the cheek. The pain stings but it's most likely nothing compared to what I will experience. Michael chuckles, his grip on my wrist getting tighter and most likely leaving bruises. Looking me up and down, he smiles, sending another wave of shivers down my spine.

"Oh yes...I'm going to have some fun with you."

* * *

Connor's P.O.V

* * *

"Sydney said that Michael was dead. Very much dead, might I add. She shot him, last I recall."

Steven shakes his head, running a hand through his graying black hair. "I know for a fact that he is not dead. I had him patched up and he left my residence, sworn on revenge. Is that not enough to tell you that he's alive?"

"Why would he go after Sydney?"

Haytham scoffs at my remark, his pacing not seeming to stop, "She shot the man. Wouldn't you want revenge?"

"He has more than enough reason to hate Sydney but Sydney has more reason to hate Michael."

I shake my head, trying hard to suppress my anger. I should not have let Sydney out of my sight. She left to look for her father and she was so sure she would be all right. I was so sure. But nothing has ever seemed to go Sydney's way.

"Where did Michael go?" I asked, ignoring my father and paying attention to Steven.

He takes a moment to think on the question before shrugging in defeat, "I have no idea. The boy may be a psychopath but he's resourceful and his parents have more than enough money to supply him with. He might be using one of his estates but that would be too easy. Michael's too smart to just hole up in his own house."

"Or maybe that's what he wants us to think," Haytham said, sitting down at the table finally. "How long do you think we'll have until he kills her?"

In unison, Steven and I shoot him a deadly look. I cannot afford to think like that. Sydney has to be alive. She is not the kind to just hide away and die. I know she isn't. But I also know that Michael scares her, even today, and whatever he plans for her will not benefit her at all. He wants her hurt. He wants her broken. He wants her _dead._

"He won't kill her," Steven growled, "He'll take his time torturing her, but he won't kill her."

"If he was as angry as you say he was, then Sydney doesn't stand a chance," Haytham replied. "Where's his nearest residence? Sydney may not be there, but if we catch someone who works for him or even Michael himself, we can get information out of them then."

"His nearest residence is just outside New York. We can go there now, catch him by surprise."

"How will we get there?" I asked. "If we wish to sneak up on him, horses will be too loud."

"We can use horses but we will hide them just on the border of his estate, then continue on foot. But we must hurry. The more time we waste, the more chance Sydney will slip through our fingers."

I nod my head in agreement but I can hardly hear the rest of their planning. I can only think of Sydney and where she might be. She had told me very little of her former fiance and I had always wondered what else he had done to make her hate him so much. I knew that they had once been in love but when Michael had gone too far, Sydney became afraid of him and slowly started to hate and mistrust him like she does most people. I still remember the day we were in Boston and she had pulled me into an alley, terrified that he might see her. From the wild terror in her jade eyes to how she shook in fear. It had been so strange for me then, since I did not know her well and I only thought her to be whining. Now, I can truly understand why she would be afraid. The man somehow was able to cheat death and live through a gunshot, only to kidnap her for his own pleasure. I'm sure I will take pleasure in killing such a man.

But I know...Sydney will want to be the one kill him for what he's done.

* * *

Sydney's P.O.V

* * *

Searing hot pain cause me to scream as loud as my voice will allow, the white hot poker being held to my wrist reminding me bitterly of my brutal childhood punishment. I will have more scars for sure, more gruesome reminders of terrible times. If only I was strong enough to fight back.

Michael takes away the poker and I whimper in pain. My burn hurts worse than I had thought, the little remaining bits of ash sticking to the wound and only making it worse. My skin is slick with sweat, my throat dry beyond belief. I can only see black spots in my vision, the world around me appearing in a swirl of colour and light. I don't recall how long I've been strapped to this chair, sliced, burned and beaten. I can still taste blood in my mouth, the metallic taste, mixed with the smell of smoke, seat and the subtle scent of blood, makes my stomach lurch and bile rises in my throat. All I want is for this to be over. For me to be rescued or to die in my sleep.

"Don't go passing out on me, Sydney," Michael snapped, slapping my cheek and making white, as well as black, sparks appear to cloud my vision. "We still have much to do."

"I think that is enough for now, my dear," A familiar voice said, the sound of heels clicking against the stone steps causing me to stiffen with tension.

I try hard to remember the voice. It's female and French, although it's a high tone than Sofia or Elena's voice. It sounds more like Mama's voice, but different also. But as soon as the woman says her next sentence, I know exactly who it is.

"Let the little rose rest. She is not immortal but the effort will not be worth it if she passes out from exhaustion or pain."

_Lena. _My dreaded cousin. She is the daughter of Mama's eldest brother, a French nobleman who died when I was thirteen. I knew my uncle well and I loved him like a father. He was kind and very much like Mama, sharing the family trademark jade eyes. But he had a spiteful wife, who hated Mama and the rest of their siblings, and she wished to have us out of their lives forever. She passed on her spitefulness to Lena, her daughter, but luckily, Lena's brother, Antoine, did not possess that trait. Lena had hated me, along with my other cousins, for as long as she lived. She was a year older than I but much less smarter and much less beautiful. When her father died and her mother committed suicide due to grief, she wished to do the same act as her mother and attempted to hang herself in the orphanage bathroom. She was caught before she could perform the act. She was separated from her brother, who went to live with a family relative and Lena ran away. Last I heard, she had gone mad and was never heard from again. We all thought her dead. But that is very much false, now that I've heard her voice.

"So weak," Lena hissed, bitterness and hate dripping from her voice. "I wonder how long she'll last."

"Screw you, Lena," I hissed through my teeth, struggling weakly against my bindings.

"Oh so she can hear me? Well, that's great. Because now I can truly tell you that you're going to die. Slowly, painfully and with no around to save you."

In all my pain, I manage to laugh at Lena's stupidity. "Really Lena?" I chuckled, "After all these years, do you honestly think that I'm afraid of death? You _really _don't know me as well as some others."

Lena's mouth sets into a frown and her eyes stare at me with blind fury. I knew she always hated me, but I never knew she hated me this much. Well, you learn something new every day. With a flick of her wrist, Michael begins to unstrap my bindings and she storms out of the cellar, the sound of her boots smacking against the stone already telling me I've gotten under her skin. _Perfect._

Michael roughly grabs me by the neck, hardly even giving me a chance to gasp, and throws me back into my cell. He too leaves, slamming the cellar doors shut behind and leaving me alone in darkness.

The unsettling cold sets in and the eerie quiet makes it seem even colder. I find myself fighting back tears, the shock and pain of everything finally catching up to me. I can only hope Connor will come for me. I can only hope and pray that he will. I want to die so badly, to disappear and fade away from this hell. If only I had the strength to fight back and escape.

As I curl into a ball, sobbing silently, I begin to pray. What harm will it do? God is the only person keeping from cracking right now, the only person watching over me. If he could lend me a hand, that would be more than great but I know he has no power over that. I can only ask for comfort now.

"_Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio; contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium..."_

* * *

Connor's P.O.V

* * *

The cover of darkness masks our approach as we sneak up on Michael's residence, the only light being that coming from the house. There are no guards around the surrounding forest, thankfully, but I cannot help but feel that something is off. I already know Sydney is not here. If she was, there most certainly would be more guards. But something about this place makes it feel like a trap.

Michael's house is very much like the Homestead's estate but it is slightly grander, as the house possesses a certain golden glow in the dim light thanks to gold paint along the framing. It seems uninhabited but I have been wrong before.

Haytham and Michael hang back, letting me creep up first as planned and take out anyone who might be a threat. Flattening my back against a tree trunk, I peer around the wood to survey the front of the house, which has only a single, weary-looking, guard leaning against the wall. He's too close to the door to allow me to sneak up and slip past him without a worry but with no one else around, it will be easy to take him out. I turn my attention to the surrounding area, looking for objects that will help me sneak up to the guard, undetected and I find a tree that hangs it's branches a few inches away from the house and quite close to the guard as well. That's my opportunity and I would be a fool not to take it.

Crouching down, I make my way toward the tree, trying my best to muffle my footsteps so as not to alert the guard. Reaching the tree, I pull myself up onto one of the branches and I begin to climb. All the years of hunting has enabled me to climb and run throughout the forests with ease and Achilles' training only helped me further through the years. Against my better judgement, my mind wanders to Sydney and the first few months we had trained together.

She had been so resistant, complaining with every step and arguing every time I taught her something new. She had potential and she was quick on her feet, usually landing a few hits before I could even realize what had happened. But she had lacked strength and that was her downfall. I remember how she argued and complained as we climbed a cliff face, whining about how her muscles hurt and how she did not need to have strength if she had speed. I was used to it by then and I had simply ignored her and continued climbing. When I had reached the top, I looked down and saw that she was quite far behind, muttering curses under her breath as she climbed. Eventually she made it up and I finally saw the cuts and scratches along her hands. She had taken one look at her hands and shrugged, much to my surprise, before wiping them on her trousers and sitting down on the ground to catch her breathe. Only then did I see how beautiful she actually was. In her most vulnerable state, with her long hair tied back into a bun, the few escaping locks of hair sticking to the sides of her face, and her face fully exposed, she was more beautiful than any woman I had ever known. That, I suspect, was when I had started falling in love with her.

Snapping back to reality, I reach the one branch that looms over the guard and I begin to walk along it, balancing myself so I do not fall off and ruin my approach entirely. The branch ends a couple of meters away from the guard, looming over his head and making him a perfect target.

Wasting no time, I jump off, landing on the guard and driving my hidden blade into his throat as I land. He hardly even makes a sound as he dies. Steven and Haytham emerge from the forest, as planned, and approach the door quietly.

"This is too easy," Steven said. "This is _far _too easy."

"Sydney most definitely is not here," I replied. "Security is far too low."

"That doesn't mean that this isn't a trap."

"Excuse me but we should get this over with soon," Haytham snapped, who seems to be done with picking the lock. "Sydney doesn't have much time and I am running out of patience."

With an annoyed eye roll, I follow the Templars in. The house is quiet and cold, the candles light the hallways providing pretty minimal light in the dark. But even in the dark, I can still see a figure moving at the end of the hall. Completely abandoning our stealthy approach, I run forward, snatching whoever it was moving and throwing them up against the wall. Looking closely, I can already see the face of Sydney's ex-fiance.

"Oh look who it is?" Michael snapped, trying to shove me away, "Sydney's savage. Should have known you'd come for her."

"Where did you take her?" I growled as I hold him up by the collar of her shirt, "If you've done anything to her-"

"Oh I've done quite a lot to her," Michael snapped back, "And she'll have a lot more done to her when I get out of here."

"If you think you're getting out of this alive," Steven said coldly, "Than you're dumber than I thought."

Michael laughs, the sound somehow making me angrier than I already am. "Not as good at comebacks as your daughter, sir. And I _am _getting out of this. Do you honestly think I'm alone?"

I go to reply with a fist to his face but the click of a gun makes me rethink my actions. I turn my gaze to Haytham and Steven, who are backing away from a woman in the dark. A woman holding two guns to their heads.

"Now, now," She said, her accent being distinctively French, "I'm sure you don't want to die today and I most certainly don't want blood all over my new dress. Now, let Michael go and stand over here with these two, savage."

Reluctantly, I set Michael down, fighting hard against my instincts to attack the both of them, and stand next Steven with my hands raised. _Knew it was too easy. _This close, I can see the woman's face more clearly. She has Sydney's jade eyes but a different shaped face and light brown hair that she has pulled back into a bun. She's nowhere near as tall as Sydney and she has more of a harsh beauty compared to Sydney, the kind that becomes boring over time.

Styling his hair to the way it was, Michael stands beside the woman, his smug smile annoying me more.

"Good job Lena," He said, "We best get back to dear Sydney. I have a new torture device in mind."

"If you touch her-"

"Oh sorry, already have. And I think it's time I got what I've been working towards for four years."

I do not even need to ask for clarification. I already know what he's talking about. And it makes me sick to think about what will happen if I do not get to her in time.

"Get down on the ground," Lena snapped, "If you try and come after us, that is if you're even still alive, the guards outside will kill you if you try to leave. Understand?"

I do not get the chance to reply. Lena shoots me in the back before I can.

* * *

**Cliffhanger! Ha ha ha, I should probably get some sleep soon because I am really tired but I can't seem to sleep and no matter how many books I read, I can't seem to fall asleep. Luckily, finishing this chapter has made me even more tired so this will be short.**

**R&R as usual or just read the chapter or do whatever you usually do. I appreciate all the reviews and support. I'll probably give a longer A.N next chapter because I am seriously tired and my brain isn't working well enough to write a proper A.N. Anyway, thank you for reading and I'm gonna go to sleep now. Bye**


	23. Chapter 22: Lost in Thought

Chapter 22:

Lost in Thought

* * *

The first thing that struck me was Michael's anger. He sounded furious as he stormed down the stone steps and tore open the cell door. It was also the air about him that scared me, the kind of air that accompanies a murderer. To no one's surprise, the next thing that hit me, was Michael's fist.

The force of his fist colliding with my cheek literally slams me into the ground, the sickening crack supporting the factor of a broken cheekbone. Black spots appear in my vision as my cheek goes numb with pain, my muscles already in pain from the torture session I received about two days ago. Or at least I think it was two days ago. Surprisingly enough, I've lost track of the days, so I don't even know if I've spent a week here or only a few days. I'm too exhausted to know.

"You fucking little whore," Michael snapped, grabbing a fist full of my hair and yanking it back.

I feel the cold steel of a knife at my throat and I automatically begin to struggle. It doesn't take much for Michael to push the blade a little closer into my throat. Warm blood trickles down my throat, adding to the dried blood already stuck to my skin.

"Well at least I'm having more fun than you," I gasped, smiling despite the blood in my mouth. "Or have you finally given up me and gone for Lena, who, honestly, is more of a slut than me?"

With a groan of frustration, Michael yanks the blade away and smashes my forehead into the stone ground. I barely grasp onto consciousness as Michael yanks my head back and the blade goes back to my throat. I don't know how long I'll be able to stand this, considering I'm already incredibly weak and I'm in no condition to fight or even withstand small amounts of torture. I push away the pain and swallow back bile, tasting even more blood on my tongue.

"I am going to ask this once and once only, Sydney," Michael growled, his voice sounding vicious and cruel as it rolls off his tongue. "How did you lead them here?"

"I wouldn't possibly know what you are talking ab-"

Abrupt pain causes my sentence to be cut short as I bite down hard on my bottom lip, muffling the silent scream of pain as Michael presses down hard on a burn mark that has only just begun healing. After about a minute of shear agony, he pulls back and I can feel his warm breath at my cheek again.

"I knew you were going to make this difficult for me," He said quietly. "Now they couldn't possibly have found us alone. What did you send them?"

"I didn't send anything. And I couldn't possibly have sent anything if you kept me locked up in this cellar for all his time, now could I?"

"Don't use your sarcastic tone with me. I can slit your throat any minute now and you wouldn't be able to do a thing about it. Your father, you savage and the Grand Master should have died three days ago when Lena shot them. _How are they here now?" _

_Connor? He's here? _A sadistic smile stretches across my face and I can't help but laugh. Of course, they would somehow have found a way to find her but not before Michael spotted them. The news is both reliving and aggravating.

"Maybe you should have checked if they were still alive, they wouldn't be here. Anyway, Lena isn't much of a good shot, even at point blank range."

For a few minutes, there is nothing but silence between us. I can faintly hear Michael's slow, controlled breathing and my own sharp, ragged intakes of breath. It frightens me a little, as I know Michael is surely planning something. My suspicions are confirmed when Michael snakes an arm around my waist and hauls me to my feet.

"What are you doing?" I snapped, a hint of fear lacing my voice.

"Well, I'll let you guess," Michael said, "What's the one thing you've never wanted and rejected from me and also, is the one thing I _know _your beloved savage will hate and kill me for?"

All of a sudden, the icy fear that has been seeping into my blood crystallizes and my whole body tenses at his words. _There's no one the save you here, _my mind said frantically. _He could do what he wanted with you and no one would know a thing. _The words linger in my head, haunting my every breath and causing my muscles to freeze in fright. With no strength or will to fight, I do the one thing I have never thought I would ever have to do.

I scream.

* * *

Connor's P.O.V

* * *

A blood-curdling scream rips through the air, slicing the eerie silence that hung in the air. The scream carries a familiar tone to it, a tone that I instantly recognize.

"Sydney," I whispered, before running in the direction of the scream.

Steven and Haytham do not know I'm here. They do not know I left for this place without them and went after Sydney out of pure desperation. They had both said I needed the rest, that I wouldn't be able to fight in the condition I was in. My shoulder is still plagued with the horrid stabbing pain where that woman, Lena, had shot me and I could already feel Steven's horrid stitches breaking as I fought the guards only moments ago. But none of that matter anymore. Not with Sydney nearby and by the sound of it, she was in pain. In pain and scared as well. I shiver slightly at the thought of it. Sydney didn't scare easily. I hate to think of what that man is doing to her.

Another horrifying scream slices through the air and this time it sounds closer; _much, much closer. _Fighting my way through the bitter cold snow and harsh wind, I begin to hear more of Sydney's screams that I hadn't heard before. I can hear her scream at someone to get away and to stop. I can hear her scream for her mother, for me, even for her father. I have never heard her this desperate before. Nor this frightened. All the more reason to find her as quickly as possible.

With adrenaline and rage racing through my veins, I reach a point where the screams are undoubtedly close. But as I look around, all I see is the forest and the snow and not a building in sight. Just before I think of heading off in a different direction, I hear another scream. And it does not sound as if it's around me. It's sounds as if it is...below me.

Looking down at my feet, I can see that I am standing on what appears to be a hatch, leading down to what I think is a cellar. With another surge of adrenaline, I step off the hatch and rip open the doors, just as another scream echoes out of the cellar. I waste no time, sprinting down the stone steps and preparing myself for a fight. But strangely enough, one does not come.

Sydney sits curled up in the corner of her cell, bloodied and bruised, clutching a broken mirror shard in her left hand. Blood coats the shard and judging by Michael's body on the ground, slumped and looking as lifeless as he probably is, she managed to stab him before he could do too much damage. But by the wild look in Sydney's eye and the tears that stream down her face, the damage has already been done. He must have thrown her up against the wall to shatter the mirror there and that gave Sydney her chance. All I know is that she was desperate and scared and she would have done anything to get out of this place. That's just how Sydney is. She doesn't like small spaces or being closed in, so being here would be enough to anger her. Or, in this case, terrify her.

Slowly and steadily, I approach her, stepping over her former fiance's lifeless body, and crouch down in front of her. Sydney continues to stare at Michael's lifeless body, shivering severely. Somehow, I know this is from shock and not the cold. Cautiously, I take ahold of the mirror shard in her hand and gently pry it from her grasp. She gives no resistance. In fact, she does not even move. She simply stares at Michael's body and shivers like before.

"Sydney," I said softly, reaching out and putting a hand on her shoulder. "Sydney, look at me."

It takes a few minutes for her to register what I say, as she slowly tears her gaze from the dead body only a few meters away and stares up at me with her enchanted jade coloured eyes. But these are not the same eyes as I remember. These eyes are full of fear, something I have not seen in over four years. This truly has shaken her. This truly has broken her cracked nature.

"Connor," She whispered, her voice barely even audible. "I...I don't...I don't know what happened. One minute...I had no strength and he was...he was..."

She is unable to continue her sentence as she breaks down in tears, sobbing as she throws her arms around my neck and buries her face in the crook of my neck. I didn't realize how bare she was. Nor how weak she seems. He must have starved her of her strength so that she was an easy target. _Coward. _

I hold her for a few minutes, letting her cry into my shoulder as I mutter comforting words to her. I do not know if she hears them but she does calm down eventually, her sobs becoming less violent and giving her the ability to talk without breaking down.

"Just take me away from here," She whimpered. "Take me home."

"Where's the girl?" I asked. "Lena?"

"I don't know, Connor. I want to know, so I can rip her head clean off her body but I don't and to be completely honest, I'm too tired to care."

"Did he...did he-"

"Rape me?"

The words almost send me shaking with anger but I hold my ground, tightening my arms around Sydney protectively as if our enemy was still alive and about to attack.

"Yes," I croaked, the word tasting bitter on my tongue.

"He...He almost did. He got...frightfully close. But I...I stabbed him before he could finish the deed."

The tone of Sydney's voice tells me the matter is finished and that I should not continue with anymore questions on the matter. But I still need to know more. What happened? How did he get you? Who is this Lena? Why was she taken in the first place?

All these questions died in my mind as I lifting Sydney in my arms and carry her away, taking her away from the place that will most likely haunt her nightmares for a fair while.

* * *

Sydney's P.O.V

* * *

Nightmares plagued my sleep, the dreams somehow becoming worse than even the nightmares of my mother dying before my eyes. Michael reoccurs in every dream, taunting me and torturing me until I'm ripped from my dream in a screaming, broken mess. No. Sleep is not an easy thing right now, even with Connor staying up at an ungodly hour to watch over me and comfort me as I wake.

But after far too many nightmares and far too little pleasant dreams, I throw the covers back and push open a window in the tavern room. I seem to be choking on my own breath and I can bare those horrid dreams no longer. It seems my mind has chosen to stay awake and vivid, rather than tired and restful. _To fucking hell with my mind. _

For some reason, it feels better to swear, even if I had not swore aloud, it feels better. At least I can take my frustration out on something. I hear Connor approach me from behind, snaking his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder as he yawns sleepily.

"Am I keeping you up, my dear?" I said. "I hate to be a burden."

"You are not a burden, Sydney. What you went through-"

"Is no excuse to act as I have," I snapped, interrupting Connor mid-sentence. "But these bloody nightmares have persisted and I cannot sleep. It's a pain but I can deal with it on my own."

"You deal with far too many things on your own," Connor muttered, kissing my neck affectionately before releasing me and heading back to bed.

I can tell the kiss was an invitation of sorts but I don't want to annoy Connor with my problems. Not when he needs the sleep and rest from his wound. Papa and Haytham had been furious when he had arrived with me in his arms, angry that he had left without them but they had also been relived to see me safe, although Haytham's relief, I suspect, was meant for Connor. I can still see the way he looks at Connor, like a person who looks at a lost treasure that is now in another's possession. It's sad, to say the least, but I would not press the issue with Connor, as he would see it as betrayal or something else that could just as easily be thrown back in my face.

Papa had fixed my wounds. Well, done his best, that is. Papa was never the medical sort and he did his best to stitch up various cuts and to salve and bandage burn wounds but I know I will have to see Dr. White after all this for better treatment. Still, it was touching and ever so slightly confusing to see my father caring for me, as he did when I was younger. I feel myself becoming conflicted with my emotions, my better judgment and my duty. One part of me says to spare my father and another says to kill him before he can destroys everything I hold dear.

Defeated and once again, exhausted, I trudge back to bed, burying my head in my pillow as I lie down. I try my best to sleep but grotesque and haunting pictures seem to be painted onto the backs of my eyelids, jolting me back out of whatever form of sleep I was in.

"Are you going to keep tossing and turning or are you eventually going to fall asleep?" Connor muttered, turning over and facing me.

"If you're trying to be humorous, I suggest you leave the jokes to me. I have a better temperament for it," I replied, rubbing my tired eyes.

Connor chuckles, drawing me into his arms and resting his chin on top of my head. I feel like a child in his arms, his broad frame out-sizing my own slender frame. I don't particularly mind, but I find that I receive some insult in being so small.

"What am I doing?" I groaned. "I'm so lost. I'm fighting with my own better judgment and sanity over this."

"What exactly is 'this'?"

"Killing Templars. Killing my father. I...I can't seem to justify it, no matter how hard I try. I know it will be for everyone's good but..."

"You wish it didn't?"

I sigh, looking up into Connor's eyes. "Is that wrong? I have no clue and with our situation become more and more complicated, I don't even know if I'll have the chance or even the mental strength to kill him."

Connor sighs, shaking his head and kissing my forehead. "I find myself in a similar...mindset."

"You?" I scoffed, trying my best not to sound too offensive. "Connor, you're the most focused and unwavering person I know. How could you be having doubts about whether or not to kill your own father?"

"I have been...thinking things over and I cannot seem to see any reason why Templars and Assassins could not be united. There is still a chance-"

"Oh God, Achilles warned me this would happen. Connor, as lovely as your dream is, the Templars are far too stubborn and stuck in their ways to agree to such a thing."

"But-"

"But nothing, Connor. There is absolutely nothing that can be done to change their minds. Believe me, I was raised to _be stubborn and stuck in my ways. _Focus on the task at hand and everything else will just...fall into place."

Connor looks away, staring blankly at the wall behind me and our conversation falls silent. I fall asleep in his arms, the nightmares I was experiencing before seeming to suddenly disappear.

* * *

"Tell me; exactly how many drinks did Papa have last night?"

Haytham sighs, rolling his eyes at my father only a few meters ahead with the up-most annoyance. "Eleven, to be exact. He is quite the depressing drunk, I have noticed."

"According to Mama, he always was," I replied.

I thought it best that I stay away from my father this morning, considering that I have a lot to think about and very little time to do so. And with Papa's nasty hangover and Connor's bitter attitude toward Haytham, I thought it better that I stick with Haytham for the majority of the journey. Connor rides alongside Papa a few meters ahead of us and I ride alongside Haytham, who has been startlingly quiet for the last half hour.

"I have a question," I said, taking a slight stab at general conversation.

"Ask away," Haytham replied, slight curiosity in his voice.

"How did you know mother? You told Connor you knew her once, so I was just wondering..."

"I first met her when I arrived in America. She was with your father when I went to recruit him and she was surprisingly...kind. She was respectful, in her own way, but...I could tell she wasn't too fond of me."

"Yes, well, Mama was always more subtle in her hatred than I."

"I don't think she was exactly subtle. She did punch me in the jaw before she left for England."

I cannot help but smile at that. The very idea of my mother punching someone is a little more than novel in my head. But as quickly as the smile comes, I try to hide it, as Haytham may not be too happy about my amusement in the idea.

"Connor is not exactly fond of me either, I presume," Haytham said.

"Not one bit, unfortunately. To be fair, you aren't the ideal father figure, Haytham."

"Do you not think I already know that?"

"No, but for Connor's sake, I'll keep reminding you of it."

"How thoughtful of you."

"It seems sarcasm isn't your strong-suit either."

Haytham rolls his eyes again, although I know his annoyance is directed at me this time. I couldn't imagine why Haytham would care the least about what Connor thinks about him but I guess I shouldn't be surprised. We all have a sense of curiosity when it comes to certain people.

"Haytham?" I said to no one in particular, the name sounding strange on my tongue. "You're from London and yet...you have an Arabic name?"

Haytham gives me a strange look, "How did you know it is Arabic?"

"I was bored one day and I decided to look up the Arabic language. A poor decision, I know. So, why the name?"

"How am I meant to know why my father called me that? It means 'young eagle', which may actually have links to my ancestors but I cannot be sure."

"At least your name means something interesting. Sydney means 'wide island'."

"Another bored day?"

"Yes, actually. Good guess."

"You never stop do you?"

A smile flashes across my face and I shrug, "What do you think?"

Haytham sighs and spurs his horse just ahead of me, most likely so he doesn't have to talk to me for the rest of the journey. It doesn't bother me, although there is a sick satisfaction in annoying Haytham that I enjoy. At least his departure from conversation has given me a chance to think.

The morning sun begins to rise higher in the sky, shining in my eyes and making me lower my head to shield myself from the rays. I try to consider my options with Papa but considering the conversation I had with Haytham, my mind keeps wandering back to Connor. I don't know what to do anymore. I'm quite certain I love him, even though my feelings scare me, but I'm far more scared of him dying in this goddamn war. I'm scared of him leaving and never coming back. I'm scared that when he needs my help the most, I won't be able to protect him. Losing Connor, in my mind, is not an option. But this war and our feud with the Templars are increases the chances of my fear becoming a reality and I do not know how I am going to be able to cope with that. It's terrifying...but it's something that I must deal with on my own.

The situation with my father is another hand. I have no idea if, in the end, I will be able to kill him. Everything I have ever thought he was has turned out to only be a half truth or not even the truth at all. I've abandoned almost every opinion of him I have had over the past eleven years. I'm almost sure my mother was wrong about him but...the scar on my shoulder constantly reminds me that he is a Templar and he would kill me if he had the express opportunity. With conflicting feelings, I can't seem to decide which of my instincts to trust. It's a horrible situation I've found myself in and I cannot see an end.

For the rest of the trip, I remain silent. Nothing My head is buzzing with far too many thoughts and I cannot seem to concentrate on anything without getting distracted. In the end, my mind settles on thoughts of home, Lucy and what life might be like after all this war and death is over.

* * *

**1 review? :( I feel slightly neglected.**

**Look guys, I appreciate your support so far but it's really hard to continue writing without guidance. If i don't know whether or not you're all liking where the story is going, I can't change the pace, direction, or anything else like that. So review and tell me what you think yada yada yada. Okay, rant over.**

**I was going to finish this chapter ages ago. I was hoping to get it done on my birthday but unfortunately, I had absolutely no internet and there was no wifi around to let me write it on my iPad. Plus, I spent a few days crying over Clockwork Princess (_literally __crying_) and I needed to recover a bit. So forgive me for being a bit late but given the circumstances I think I'm all good. **

**So, R&R, ask questions if you want, do whatever you usually do. **

**See ya :P**


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